


Crimson Ten Delight Petrichor

by geekns



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Masturbation, Mating Rituals, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/geekns
Summary: The Tardis crash lands in a rainforest. Per usual, the natives are suspicious...and misunderstood. And, because it's a porn battle, you just know that sparks are going to fly.Porn Battle prompts: blindfolded, bound and gagged, bigger on the inside, body paint, campfire, firelight, and per usual (for me) Gallifreyan differences with some Gallifreyan mating cycle thrown in for good measure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Doctor belongs to the BBC. The password belongs to Neil Gaiman.
> 
> Author's Note: the prompts won't really come into play until part 2, i'm afraid. Gotta let things simmer a bit to start out.
> 
> Acknowledgements: I could never have written this without being inspired by Tardis-Mole's Feral (which used to be found @FFN and Teaspoon), my favorite of his fics.

Donna couldn't help but notice that things had been getting a bit odd lately. It wasn't that things with the Doctor had ever been normal, but his destinations had gradually become a more obvious yet inevitably futile attempt at normal, safe, and calm. She supposed that the Doctor was entitled to a little R&R after nearly dying time after time in attempt to save planet after planet, losing his daughter, being poisoned in the course of a murder investigation, and nearly being murdered by an unknown alien entity while trying to sightsee, but there was something else going on.  
  
She could tell that the Doctor was hiding something from her. He kept being overprotective. Holding hands was becoming awkward, and she could sense a tension between them that had never been there before...Which bothered her, because ever since the Doctor's near-poisoning she had found herself hoping, wishing, holding her breath that maybe her shock had done more than trigger a detox and would instead prompt more shocks. Donna had been kissing boys for a very long time (not that she was old) and she had never experienced anything like that one moment of unexpected tension turned bliss (which might have been the anchovies, but she wasn't sure without putting some more research into it, and she wasn't about to start eating anchovies in the name of science or love).  
  
As they left the planet Midnight, the Doctor asked her where she wanted to go next...not looking at her, his body language was screaming  _No, I don't want to talk about it!_  What she softly replied was “I don't care” but what she really wanted to say was “somewhere private sounds nice” or “come here, you big idiot” or attempt to slap some sense into him. She was sick of saving people from their own ignorance and interrupting her curious but insistent desire for privacy with the Doctor. They had nearly gotten around to having their first date for goodness sake, and now she was feeling cheated.  
  
“Right, one random trip coming right up,” was somewhat deceptive in that it sounded normal but ended up being anything but.  
  
As soon as the Doctor sent them into the Time Vortex, it was obvious that something was wrong. The Tardis' deck bucked, her engines groaned (even more than usual), and the Doctor and Donna were tossed about helplessly, trying but failing to find anything to hold onto. Suddenly it felt as if the floor had fallen out from beneath their feet, and instead of bouncing about they were plummeting Tardis-knows-where. Donna could feel a scream being ripped from her throat, only to be cut off as the Doctor's body was hurled against hers, knocking the air from her lungs.  
  
Donna became aware that they were sailing through the console room together in a direction that was far from usual. The deck was pitched at an ominous angle, and they were rolling towards the front doors...which seemed to have opened of their own accord. She reached out instinctively, trying to slow their fall, her hands grasping uselessly at the grating, scrabbling for purchase, and then there was only darkness.  
  
  
  
When the Tardis had hit something, something inside them had broken. He couldn't hear her voice anymore. The Doctor stared blindly into space for 4.7 seconds, stunned, until he was abruptly jolted aware when his body collided with Donna's. He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, sized up the situation--doors opening downwards, two bodies spinning as one, velocity, trajectory, acceleration--in half a second. He realized that their only chance was for him to slow their descent using the bars that bordered the catwalk and swing Donna behind the door, guiding her to a soft landing on the inner wall of the Tardis. He could see it all in his mind, unfolding and stretching itself into his personal timeline, would reach out his left hand in .35 seconds...when suddenly the possibility, the certainty, vanished.  
  
Donna had reacted, reached out to try to slow their fall, and had altered their path. Their velocity hiccuped, a jolt that vibrated through both bodies, then ended with a sickening  _crack-DONG_  as Donna's hand lost the battle with gravity and the back of the Doctor's head collided with the bar that was their would-be savior. Their descent resumed, and 2.4 seconds later they plunged into deep blue water.  
  
The Doctor's vision had blurred for the rest of their fall. As soon as his body hit the water--painfully, and with a great smack that professed to the fact that he had not been conscious enough to align their bodies into a dive rather than a back flop--the Doctor's respiratory bypass kicked in, and he was wide awake and kicking. The water was deep, just deep enough for their descent to be halted to a gentle bump as his feet found purchase on the rocky riverbed and pushed off. His ears could make out the pounding of a waterfall, he could sense the current, and he swam at an angle: upwards but already slightly perpendicular to the pull of the river. Throughout the ascent his legs kicked powerfully, his arms cradled the unconscious form of Donna Noble.  
  
As soon as they surfaced, the Doctor pinched Donna's nose, pressed his mouth over hers, and blew. He tucked his arm across her chest and scanned his surroundings. Pausing to give Donna mouth to mouth had already cost them precious seconds, and the river was trying to pull Donna downstream faster than if it had been him alone. He altered their trajectory so that he was swimming at an angle, both against the current and closer to the shore. There was another waterfall downstream from them, so close that if he didn't swim against the current they would be swept over the precipice.  
  
But even with the Doctor kicking with all of his might, he could sense the futility of his struggle. He wasn't strong enough to negate the river's hold on Donna. He already knew they wouldn't make it to the shore in time. Undaunted, he kept kicking, desperate to get his companion to safety. He longed to pause, to give her another breath in an attempt to prolong her life. His lungs burned, his body pushed beyond it's normal capacity, his respiratory bypass already maxed out from the time spent underwater, having had no time to recover. His body was going numb in the river's chill, he could barely feel Donna's body tucked against his own anymore, and if he wasn't careful he might let go of her and not be able to feel the difference. It seemed all hope was lost, but he kept going, kept kicking, willed his body to cooperate, and something within him seemed to break loose.  
  
The Doctor's body took on a will of its own, then, kicking even more vigorously, his position in the water shifting so that Donna's body was more effectively towed in the draft his body created in the water, every sense tunneled on this goal of getting to the shore. His vision started to blur again, and he was seeing spots, bright flecks against his narrowed field of vision. He struggled to breathe, his chest tight with pain, the river's cold grip like a vise around his body. They were only meters from the edge...  
  
The Doctor's shin collided with a rock. The pain shot through his body, throbbing with piercing intensity, jarring the previously dull ache back into a renewed awareness. He pulled his legs up beneath him, bracing against the stone, crouched against it. He turned to face downstream and cradled Donna's body to his chest, panting for air. After half a minute, his vision cleared, his respiratory bypass recovering. He gave Donna another breath, tried to find a pulse, but his fingers were too numb. Her lips were purple. He pressed his lips to hers once more, then took stock of the situation.  
  
The rock he was braced against was fully submerged, and turned out to be a shelf. The water was pouring over it, whitewater rapids leading up to the precipice. If he could stand up, he could carry Donna the rest of the way to shore.  _If_ he could keep his footing. He allowed a foot to probe beneath him, and it found purchase. He shifted Donna in his arms so that she was cradled in them, perpendicular to his body, and pressed up, standing on awkward footing that wobbled a bit, but held. He was standing waist deep in the water now. He balanced for a moment, staggering under the shock of Donna's weight. She was out of the water now, and soaking wet, and it took a moment for his arms and legs to adjust to the fact that there was no longer any buoyancy supporting her. Then he shifted forward, lifting his good leg to brace against the ledge, inching forward, and tried to step up.  
  
It was too much for his exhausted legs to handle. The Doctor crumpled, making it onto the ledge but coming to a rest on his knees. He screamed as his injured shin collided with the rock, the pain renewed, and panted as his vision blurred. His body was at the limits of what it could do. Even with his breathing restored his muscles had been deprived of oxygen for too long. He needed to sleep, to heal, but he was also aware that it was the cold that was affecting him. It was telling his body to shut down, and he needed to ignore that call. He needed to get Donna to safety, and  _fast_.  
  
Adrenaline surged through the Doctor's veins again, tingling uncomfortably. Sensation was starting to return to his arms, his chest still tight with panic, fear, and desperation. He pressed up, forcing his body to lift his buttocks off his heels, then stand up. He growled with the pain and raw power that it took him to manage it, and widened his stance, still unsteady on numb legs. He tightened his hold on Donna, then leapt forward, bounding across the ledge in three quick strides. He staggered again when his feet found dirt, and he paused to scan their surroundings. His probing gaze found a smooth stone, on the bank a few meters upstream, warm in the sun. He knew Donna needed that warmth.  
  
The Doctor staggered the last few steps. His entire body cramped, he didn't have much strength left in him. He forced his frame to stay upright, breathed through the pain, and when it passed lurched forward again. He set her down on the rock and then crawled onto it on all fours, one knee lifted to protect his injured shin. He pulled her across its smooth surface to the center of the stone. He ignored the overwhelming urge to collapse and pressed his mouth to Donna's again.  
  
The first thing the Doctor did was pull out his sonic screwdriver and try to scan Donna. The sonic popped in his hand, sparking ineffectively, and went dead. He pulled off his tie and jacket, tossing them aside, and gave Donna another breath, then felt for a pulse. His fingers had thawed enough to find one now, and he sighed with relief. Donna's lips were still purple, but it was from the cold, not the lack of oxygen (he hoped). He set up a count in his head, breathing for Donna every 15 seconds and gradually peeling away their sodden clothing in the interim.  
  
With each passing moment, the Doctor's senses became more heightened. Removing Donna's blouse revealed sprinkles of freckles across her milky white chest. He suppressed the desire to drift his fingers across them redirecting his attention to his own attire. After he removed his shirt he could sense the sun starting to warm his back and neck, could feel new energy seeping into his frame. He peeled off his t-shirt and gave Donna another breath. Donna's nipples were obvious through her bra and the thin camisole she was wearing. The hem of the camisole had worked its way up her abdomen, revealing the soft flesh around her bellybutton. His breath caught as he reached down to unbutton her jeans, fingers fumbling. His hands lingered but for an instant, the back of his knuckles brushing against the bared flesh, and her tummy quivered beneath the gentle pressure of his touch. Desire shuddered through him unexpectedly, his skin on fire where he had touched her.  
  
He removed her shoes next, then peeled her jeans off of her. He tried to reassure himself that she would be waking any time now, that she would be fine. He tried to ignore how amazing her legs looked, softly rounded hips descending into smooth thighs and shapely calves. He began to stroke her skin, quickly and firmly, trying to massage warmth back into her skin and muscles, reassuring himself that nothing was broken. After he had worked over both of her legs, and both of her feet, he turned his attention to his own attire, slipping his sodden Converse off, then gingerly slipping his trousers down his hips and over the deep gash in his right shin. Blood was dripping down his leg, but this injury had saved them. He hadn't known he could stand at that point in the river, and to risk trying would have sped them towards their demise. He crouched over Donna again, still worried, not even able to think about his own injuries yet.  
  
His hands were shaking, hot with the friction they had created, itching to caress more skin. He started with Donna's right hand, gripping it tightly, then stroking up the inside of her wrist, playing with the flesh inside her elbow, massaging her shoulder, ghosting across her collarbone. He found himself trying to quell his body's response, was startled by it. He didn't usually have to think about such things. He stared down at her, his mind racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened, in awe that he had even managed to get them to safety. Her lips were starting to pink up, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before pressing his mouth against Donna's once more, exhaling four times before moving on to her other hand.  
  
Donna's left hand was a mess. One finger was dislocated, another broken, and one fingernail had been ripped off. The Doctor's stomach convulsed with worry, with self-loathing. It was his fault that Donna was here, it was his fault that she was injured. His eyes burned, and he closed them tightly, not wanting to cry. He had meant to take Donna home, had wanted to protect her, to shield her from what had happened on Midnight. The universe was too dangerous now, without anyone to hold back the hoards, for good or for ill. This was his fault on so many levels. The last Time War still haunted him. But the Tardis had resisted him, scolded him when he had tried to put in the coordinates for Chiswick. He had given in to her wisdom, his mind still reeling with the realization that, when he had been in the grip of the entity on Midnight, his final thoughts had not been  _I'm going to die_  so much as  _without ever telling Donna how I feel_. He didn't have the strength to lose Donna, not now. Not ever.  
  
The Doctor sighed, and retrieved some medical tape from the pocket of his trousers. The lining had kept the contents dry, and he realized that his sonic wasn't malfunctioning because it had gotten wet, but because it's connection had been severed with the Tardis, just as his had. He felt isolated here, without the Tardis whispering to his mind, without so much as Donna's teasing banter. He had always kept her at arms' length, ever mindful of her declaration that she was repulsed by the thought of being with him, that they would only ever be mates. He leaned down to breathe for her again, only this time his lips had a mind of their own, and deepened the pressure into a desperate kiss.  
  
The Doctor forced himself to pull away and moved to the left side of her body, then took Donna's injured hand in his own. He gently manipulated her ring finger, popping the joint back into position. Another breath, then he yanked on her broken middle finger aligning it back into its proper position. Donna's entire body jerked, and--finally--she coughed.  
  
  
  
Donna woke as suddenly as she had passed out. She was laying on something hard and warm, curled onto her left side, panting for air. She spit up some water, wondering how that water had gotten into her. As sensation returned to her body, she gradually became aware that she was in excruciating pain. She felt cold all over, her ears were aching, her throat burned, but most of all her left hand was screaming at her. She was scared to even try to move, felt disconnected and in danger of drifting away. She gradually realized that the Doctor was doing something with her hand and that the pain was receding. She shuddered uncontrollably, freezing cold.  
  
“You broke a finger trying to stop our fall,” he informed her quietly. There was the sound of tearing tape: “You'll have to be gentle with this until it heals, that is to say, until I can get us back into the Tardis.” Donna looked up at her hand to discover that he had taped her fingers together. One of her nails was missing, and a drop of blood dripped onto her bicep. She could feel the Old Girl's presence pulsing in her chest reassuringly, comforting. It was odd, she usually could only feel this when she was inside the Tardis, after... She pushed that thought away.  
  
The Doctor had wiped the blood away and rolled her onto her back. The sun was bright in her face now, and she had to close her eyes against the blinding light. She noted this clinically, feeling disconnected from her own body. But then his palm was sliding up her left arm, massaging, leaving a trail of warmth. His hands were on her neck, next, lifting and smoothing away the discomfort. Donna felt her breathing quicken in response. “Can you open and close your hand for me?” he asked, his voice washing over her.  
  
Her lips felt tight, bruised, as if she had been kissed hard on the mouth. How long had she been unconscious? She pursed her lips, concentrating, and flexed her hand, straightening her fingers--which felt awkward with her fingers taped together--then relaxed her fingers again, allowing them to curl slightly, palmward. “Good,” he breathed. “We should put on sunscreen.”  
  
He produced an aerosol can then, and sprayed her body systematically. He had her roll onto her right side, repeating the process on her back, his hand resting for a moment at the small of her back as he smoothed her camisole down. Then he yanked his hand away, almost as if he had burned it. She opened her eyes, wondering, and noticed that she could see the Tardis now. It looked odd, hanging high above a lake--no, a river--in a tree, some hundred meters up, tilted nearly on its side, the windows dark. Long branches wrapped with green vines held the blue box back from the surface of the water. Donna gradually realized that her hair was dripping wet. He must have pulled her out of the water.  
  
The Doctor hissed with pain. Donna gingerly sat up--careful of her left hand--and turned to face him, discovering that he was wearing nothing but boxers. She blinked numbly, unable to comprehend. He was nursing an injury on his right leg, and his face was screwed up in pain. “It's just the disinfectant,” he assured her, panting against the discomfort. “Hand me that?” She found his shirt close at hand, and passed it to him, watching as he tore it into strips, then taped a makeshift bandage to his leg.  
  
Her teeth were chattering. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wincing as she used her left hand, which had already been forgotten. She crossed her arms over her chest, noticed how tender her hard nipples were to pressure. She was only beginning to realize that the Doctor had stripped her and himself. They had fallen in the water, their hair being the most obvious clue. His hair was plastered down, rather than standing up on end as it usually did. He stood and shook his hair out, like a dog, then trotted over to his trousers barefoot.  
  
She felt hollow, except for the Tardis' hum inside of her. Her skin was hot and cold at the same time. She wasn't feeling embarrassment...though a part of her was aware that she should be. She was numb. She wished that she could hide. It was almost as if she didn't know which direction was up. She was exhausted. Donna wished that she could wrap herself in his overcoat. She distinctly felt its absence, the loss of everything familiar. The Doctor nearly naked. She, barely wearing more.  
  
The Doctor was fishing in his trousers, then dropped them. He had produced a rubber bladder canteen from one of its pockets--the kind that fits inside a hiker's backpack--and next hopped off the stone they were on. He wobbled, almost losing his footing, then hobbled to the edge of the water. He crouched down, collected a handful of water, and licked it. Seeming to be satisfied after a moment, he drank directly from the river. Then he submerged the bladder, filling it. When he was done be limped back to her, lifting himself back onto the stone.  
  
Their eyes met. “Are you thirsty?” he asked. She shook her head. He set the canteen down beside her. He gathered all of their clothes, wringing them out, then hanging them nearby, draped over bushes, to dry. Her eyes were heavy, but she couldn't let herself stop watching him. Chores done, he stretched out beside her, sighing heavily, each movement seeming to take great effort. “I need sleep,” he groaned, covering and rubbing his eyes.  
  
Donna maneuvered herself down next to him, careful of her hand. She slid closer to him, and he jumped with surprise. He blinked, then opened his arms to her, and she tucked her body against his, face to throat, arm around torso, one leg draped across his hip. His smell washed over her, and she noticed that his skin was glistening with moisture. She had never seen him sweat before, it made his scent more pronounced, but not in a bad way. The Doctor never stank, he always smelled the same, like that smell in the desert when it has just started to rain, sharp and tangy and fleeting. She thought back to visiting the pyramids, just in time for an uncharacteristic sunshower, how she had felt disappointed by the knowledge that, had she taken him up on his offer the first time, she could have watched them be built. That smell was the promise of adventures with him. She had no regrets about finding him, not even now. He shifted their limbs so that her injured hand was cradled between them, then wrapped his arms around her. His fingertips brushed against the bare skin at the small of her back again. Warmth flooded through her, and she finally felt safe. She drifted out of consciousness.  
  
  
  
His return to consciousness was gradual. His nose was being tickled by something—hair--that smelled distinctly of Donna. Her shampoo and conditioner weren't masking her natural scent anymore. He had been in a healing coma for 2.76 hours. His muscles had recovered, but his shin was still tender, not completely healed yet. Donna had turned in his arms, and they were spooned together, pressed together so closely that there could be no doubt of the effect her proximity was having on him. Donna sighed in her sleep, and hers hips undulated, pressing her bum across his lap, his arousal, and he groaned.  
  
His skin was on fire. It was hot here, a rainforest warming from spring into summer, the air heavy. He stopped his hand from roaming--was embarrassed to realize that he had been playing with the bare skin around Donna's bellybutton--and then the wind whispered through the trees. A scent made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was crouched on all fours, his body shielding Donna from the darkness. They were being watched; he was sure of it.  
  
He lifted his head, scanning the surrounding trees, inhaling to test the air. He hadn't thought of hiding, of finding a defensive place to recover in, he had only thought of rest, and warming Donna.  
  
Something buzzed through the air, biting the Doctor in the neck. He clapped his hand over it, pulling away to find a feathered dart nestled in his hand. He felt his limbs give way. Donna awoke, startled to find the Doctor's weight pinning her down. He tried to speak, to warn her, to apologize, but the resultant sound was little more than a half-grunted moan. Strong hands seized his arms, pinning them behind his body. Donna screamed, and the Doctor's vision went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: frank discussion of masturbation and past rape.
> 
> Many thanks to my Brit-picking Beta [basmathgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Basmathgirl/pseuds/Basmathgirl) for giving this a look.

Ever since she had found herself standing in her wedding dress in some Martian control room, Donna had been horny. It wasn't that she was constantly felt the need to excuse herself in an attempt to pleasure herself...It was simply as if her biological clock had gotten even louder and caused her sex drive to revert back to that of her sixteen year old self in desperation. That, or the huon particles had flipped some switch back on and she was just out of luck...because she had no idea how to flip it back off.

Donna had always wondered if her libido was unusual. Her mother had always been rather conservative about the topic, and would rather talk about anything but sex, so Donna had never been able to obtain much guidance from her on that front. But Nan had been an eye opener, no doubt. Her Nan had a myriad of stories about a long list of men that she had seen during the War. She would go to the dancing hall every night it was open and had had her fair share of beaus. Nan and Wilf and Dad being the center of Donna's universe, she hadn't felt too bad about dating around just as much as Nan had.

Donna could remember playing with herself back at the tender age of three. She could remember getting caught a few times during naptime, too, and there being hell to pay from her mum. Mum never told Dad, but she made it very clear that such goings on were shameful. So Donna had only rarely indulged her desires, and always in the dark, in secret, and shamefaced. She didn't even understand that what she was doing was considered to be masturbation until she was deciding not to take her A-levels, and by then she had discovered boys.

Donna loved kissing boys. She had started when she was twelve, and she soon became the girl that every boy in school practiced on, courtesy of a fiver and the promise to never tell a living soul (which of course guaranteed that they did). Other girls called her a slut (Nerys had started calling her a slut before they even knew what the word meant, so this was nothing new), but Donna liked how being with boys (and later men) made her feel powerful. She could turn them down if she wanted to, and if they didn't like that then she would kick them in the nuts.

That is...until one day when the new boy from Manchester--Greg McKeegan--caught her by surprise. He had called her a tease when she wouldn't go past second base, then followed her home, pulled her into an alley, and knocked her about until she was only half conscious. He gagged her, and then deflowered her. It didn't take him long, a pathetic two minutes at the outside, and he had never been able to look at her again. She never told anyone who had banged her up, let alone that it had been how she had lost her virginity.

Now, it could have been that Donna would have decided to never have sex again and been woe is me for the rest of her life. But that was when Donna discovered that she liked it rough. She liked it when men took her before she was warmed up, she liked it when they didn't treat her like a delicate flower, she liked to slap men. She wasn't into submission, or comfortable with BSDM, but she wasn't afraid of a little pain. She dated around, kept condoms hidden in her handbag, and wasn't opposed to giving it a go on the first date.

That is...until she turned thirty and discovered that the only long-term dating relationships she had ever had were with men who had turned out to be gay. Most of her classmates were married now, with one or two kids, and even Nerys had decided to have her twins. Donna was starting to feel really lonely. Sex only left her feeling satisfied about a quarter of the time, she had turned into a quick conquest with a well known reputation, and she didn't even know how to have a healthy relationship with a man. Most men were intimidated by her because she was scared of them and put up a strong front.

So Donna had decided that it was time to reinvent herself. She had a fairly substantial CV now and was beginning to get more lucrative contracts. She learned how to swim properly and took up scuba diving (both of which were in an attempt to overcome her fear of deep water). She started to travel, and see the world. She stopped dating men with whom her reputation preceded her and started to become more serious about finding a husband. She stopped sleeping with any man unless the relationship became exclusive.

Most of her friends thought she was crazy by now. Oh, she could still match pints and talk about all the celebrity gossip, but she wasn't content with her life. She wanted more. She didn't want to be tied down, yet she was dying to have a family, something else was calling to her, something different. She just didn't realize what it was.

 

Being in the Tardis made Donna feel funny. The first time, it had terrified her. Something about that box wasn't right. It was too big on the inside. It made her feel claustrophobic, as if the walls would suddenly collapse and the inside would implode to match the outside. Some awareness thrummed through her that scared her half to death. It sang destiny to her. Well Donna Noble didn't believe in nonsense like destiny; she made her own way.

But after she decided not to travel with the Doctor...Donna felt as if she had lost a part of herself. This partially had to do with how thoroughly Lance had shattered her self confidence. Deep down, she had always known that the relationship was too good to be true, that there was something wrong about it, but she had always ignored her niggling doubts...because she needed the relationship to be true. She was getting desperate, and being in love made her feel completely alive.

But after leaving the Doctor, she missed the way the box hummed. After being rescued, she had trusted it more. The space hadn't seemed too large, it had seemed to be overflowing with infinite possibility. Laughing and dodging death with the Doctor had made Donna feel just as alive as being in love had...maybe more. Her eyes were opened, she couldn't go back to who she had been before. Traveling around Earth didn't satisfy her itch. She knew now that there was something more, that Place was not a big enough destination, that selfish pleasure was not as rewarding a goal as selfless sacrifice. And she worried about the Doctor; oh how she worried. He was unlike any man that she had ever known. He believed in her. He thought she was worthwhile. And he was just stupid enough to get in trouble. She should never have let him out of her sight.

So Donna decided to do two things: try to find the Doctor again, and learn how to love herself. This latter goal included how to pleasure herself. She stopped looking for a man (well, as much), and decided to learn how to be happy alone. She wasn't sure that she was very successful...porn and dildos (and sometimes even vibrators) just didn't do it for her. She started experimenting, but it was largely hit or miss. So Donna felt horny nearly all the time but couldn't figure out how to scratch her itch. Not until she found the Doctor again.

 

When Donna moved into her new room in the Tardis, the first thing she did was unpack. Her room was bright, and well decorated, and had an en suite with a huge tub and a walk in wardrobe. Donna was in heaven. She opened drawers, tucking her clothing away, started hanging coats, dresses, and blouses. There were hooks and fancy wooden mannequin heads for her hats. There was even a little cupboard at the back which her empty luggage fit in perfectly. It was as if the Tardis had made this room just for her...in fact, Donna was fairly certain that she had.

However, Donna was more than a little surprised to find a little extra something waiting for her in the drawer she chose to use for her bras and knickers. There was a wrapped box with soft sand-colored paper and a sea foam green bow. There was no tag. She supposed that it was a room-warming present. She wasn't expecting to find--she thought she was right to presume--an assortment of oddly-shaped sex toys. They certainly looked different, one the same color and texture as the tree-like struts in the console room (only softer), some that seemed to share their design inspiration with switches and levers on the console. There was an assortment of bottles holding colorful gels that she assumed were lubricants. And there was a beautiful blue satin bag to slide them all into, which she did, her face hot and (she was sure) bright red.

She hid the kit in the back of the drawer and decided that it had been an exciting enough day and that it was time to go to bed. She marveled at the way the ship thrummed around her, how comfortable her bed was, how the Doctor wanted her to come with him. She was finally home.

 

After watching Pompeii burn, Donna felt thoroughly exhausted and filthy. She had ran and railed and cried. As a result, she was already regretting the fact that she had told the Doctor that she didn't want to mate. She had only done it to make sure he didn't expect her to put out now that they were traveling together. She really wanted to travel with him, but not if he was some sick pervert who only traveled with women if they slept with him. But if the Doctor was half as good at kissing and cuddling as he was at holding hands and hugging, then she was in trouble. He got her heart racing just by looking at her a certain way. As it was, she supposed that she was just going to have to break in the new bathtub.

So as soon as Donna told the Doctor good night and got into her bedroom she started to strip. The tub was already half full by the time she got to the loo. There was a selection of bubble baths to choose from and the water felt perfect as she stepped in. She breathed a word of thanks to the Old Girl, one hand stroking against the wall appreciatively as she sank into the water. Not only did it start out being divine, but the water stayed the perfect height and temperature. There were jets set in the side and bottom of the tub, just perfect for a back massage, but without painfully digging into her skin or requiring her to sit a certain way. After washing her hair, she noticed that there was even a hose for her to rinse with. And then Donna noticed the piece of coral on the side of the tub.

Any time that Donna had an adrenaline rush, it eventually made her start squirming for relief. She didn't think this was odd; she thought it was nature's way of propagating the species. Right when you think the world is falling apart and why would anyone bring a new life into it, wars and natural disasters are followed by baby booms. Who was Donna to argue with Mother Nature? But the Tardis encouraging her to get off...she wasn't sure if she appreciated that. Especially when she hadn't thought to lock the door, and really didn't fancy getting out of the tub yet. She gazed at the lock longingly, and was startled when she heard the lock click. Ask and you shall receive.

But she decided to use the water sprayer. She wasn't sure why, but it just seemed less wrong. It had a massaging head with several options to choose from, so she picked one and flicked it on. The water felt fantastic. It was the perfect temperature. It hit her just right, not too hard, not to gentle. It made her toes curl. But it wasn't quite enough to send her over the edge. The piece of coral sat staring at her forlornly. She swore and grabbed it.

The wedge, for lack of a better term, looked like it was made of the same rough coral of the Tardis, but it didn't feel the same. It was soft, and warm, and the slightest bit squishy while still hard enough to feel substantial and penis-like. It seemed to throb in her hand, humming just a bit louder than the rest of the ship. There was a long narrow wedge that measured just shorter than her hand, but it also had a soft leash. It was thicker than her usual dildo (which wasn't saying much) but not uniformly round, as the underside was twisty, once again...kind of like the struts. She decided to give it a go, and sat back, willing her body to relax.

It was a bit of a tight fit compared to what she was used to. Of course, what she was used to was safe, the uniform and factory made variety that one could buy if they knew which shop to slip into. But as she had expected, the wedge seemed to have been made for her. It slid right inside her and fit like a hand to a glove. Donna clenched experimentally, and gave herself a few pumps, and the discomfort was gone, and it felt divine. She had never felt something so alive move inside her. She sat back and reveled in the feeling.

And then something shifted. She could feel the tip of the wedge brush against her cervix as it seemed to expand--no fold--and transform into a tight ball. Donna was instantly riding new waves of pleasure, and it was all she could do to hold on as the ball throbbed once, twice, three times. Donna came with a muffled squeak of surprise as she covered her hand with her mouth and sagged, boneless, in the tub. When it was over, her body was thrumming with pleasure, as if her very bones and blood and skin had been attuned to the Tardis itself.

Had she just been fisted by the Doctor's ship? It was one hurdle she had never crossed. She had never found anyone she trusted enough to attempt it with. Donna sat up again, knees spread, and retrieved the sprayer to apply gentle pressure to her swollen sex again. She was soon riding on new waves of pleasure, intensified by hesitant, experimental kegels, then more forcefully trying to push out the ball, using only the muscles inside her body. She was right on the cusp again, ready to fall off the precipice. The anticipation building, she was delighted when the ball began to throb again, this time almost seeming to grow inside of her. Donna moaned loudly as she came again, all semblance of self-control lost as she came apart and saw stars behind her eyes for the first time in her life.

The orgasm seemed to go on and on forever. It was all too much, she writhed in pleasure, pushing away the sprayer in exquisite agony, and tugged on the leash with her hand twice. The ball stopped pulsing and shifted back into the wedge shape. Her body continued to spasm for another minute before she felt strong enough to guide the wedge back out of her body. It was easy to remove, and she rinsed it off gently before setting it aside. She was ready for bed now. The tub started to drain.

Donna lifted herself out of the receding water, unsteady on her feet, and reached for the towel that was hanging nearby. As she finished drying off, she noticed a gel sitting on the nearby counter. She instinctively knew that it was meant for her lady bits. She opened the cap and sniffed. It was scentless so far as she could tell. She decided to use it, and was gratified to discover that it was cooling--but not too cold--and did not burn. She washed her hands, brushed her teeth, took care of taming her mane, slipped into a silk negligee--new, not part of her own wardrobe--and collapsed into bed, exhausted. She thought she could hear singing as she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Not work friendly! This actually earns its rating. Time for some of the prompts to show up.
> 
> Battle prompts: blindfolded, bound and gagged, bigger on the inside, body paint, campfire, firelight, and per usual (for me) Gallifreyan differences with some Gallifreyan mating cycle thrown in for good measure.

The Doctor had never liked to be emotionally attached to people, human or otherwise.  He didn't want to have to depend on people physically or mentally, either.  Most of his incarnations couldn't have imagined needing help (though he tried not to admit this wasn't actually a valid belief on more than one occasion).  He could still remember the fights he had with the humans he first took as companions.  When Susan had started acting out against his guidance, he had known that she was growing up, and he hated what it was doing to their relationship.  Eventually he had decided to let go of her, to leave her behind.  It had seemed easier than bringing along that boy she had fallen for.  He hadn't shed a single tear, hadn't moped about it, there were too many adventures to be had.  
  
But when Ian and Barbara had decided to go home he had been offended.  Here he was, trying to show them the wonders of the universe, and all they wanted to do was return to their ordinary, humdrum lives, and shack up.  They depended on each other, rather than him.  He had feigned anger--not that it was hard, his pride had been wounded--rather than let on how much it hurt to let them go.  Then he spent the rest of his lives endeavoring to become more like them, more energetic, more compassionate, and wiser.  Each of his companions changed him in some way, but Ian and Barbara had probably done the most to make him who he was today.  
  
With Donna, things had gotten out of hand.  He felt like he was coming out of his skin.  He didn't even know how to function anymore.  Everywhere they went, instead of focusing on the issue at hand, he found himself worrying more about how to keep her safe.  And the things she said!  She constantly drove him crazy.  Insulting the Tardis!  Then insisting on learning how to fly her!  Ganging up on him with Martha and Jenny. Challenging him time and again.  It was driving him mad.  The trouble was, she turned out to be right far more often than his ego would have liked.  And for some strange reason, the more she challenged him, the more he liked her.  
  
But now, this was taking it a step further.  Today felt like he was going to come out of his skin if he didn't know where Donna was  _right now_  and could escort her to safety...using violence, if need be.  Which would normally just seem like a fun diversion, a diverting challenge, and would definitely not result in violence if he could possibly help it, but today his brain was clouded.  This was all the annoyance and thrill and worry that was wrapped up as the package of Donna Noble multiplied to the nth degree, bearing down on him.  What  _had_ they shot him up with?  He was so hazy that he couldn't even start to analyze it.  
  
So the Doctor was hanging around on a pole, blindfolded, gagged, ears straining for any clue as to where Donna was.  Trouble was, she was probably still groggy like him, or at the very least gagged, and as such communication would be nearly impossible.  So he remained passive, listening, not that there was much to hear.  All that he heard after hours of being bumped and jarred were a couple of squeaks and hums.  What was that?  Were they speaking in code, sign language, telepathy, or just really quiet?  And now he was being lifted with ropes, by the sound of things, so quickly that his stomach had dropped out.  Fortunately, he had a strong stomach, not to mention that he hadn't eaten in hours.  He was starving now, ravenous.  He wasn't sure if he was shaking from fatigue or hunger or a combination of the two.  
  
The Doctor could hear more of that squeaking now.  He was starting to have a really bad feeling about this.  If his connection to the Tardis was broken, that possibly meant that he wouldn't be able to understand these people if and when they tried to question him.  For all he knew, they had been speaking around him the entire time.  Which of course could be making the entire situation worse than it already was.  
  
He winced as the blindfold was roughly yanked off his head.  It was morning, now, and the bright light was blinding.  How long had he been unconscious?  He wasn't even sure how long he'd been conscious, now, the hours had blurred together.  He attributed this to the drugs, as well, but for all he knew there was something else wrong with him.  Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings, of the pygmy people that he was among, their spears and dart blowers and knives.  They looked human enough, with olive complexions, blond or red hair, and almond shaped eyes, but none of them were over five feet tall.  
  
They were on a large platform in a tree house.  There were huts, higher in the branches, but this one was large, open, and roofless.  And the air...it was so dry and hot.  They were in a rainforest, where was the humidity?  Surely it should have rained by now, with them on the surface for half a day, but a quick sniff of the atmosphere confirmed that it hadn't, probably not in days, and it also wasn't likely to.  They appeared to be in a drought.  
  
There was a lot of squeaking and shuffling as Donna was suddenly escorted into the room.  Before her escort could stop her, Donna sprinted away from her entourage and knelt by his side, hugging him so tightly that it hurt.  Then she set to removing his gag.  Relief flooded through the Doctor despite the intimidating looks that every person in the room was sending him (other than his companion).  Donna was clad in a white linen gown that was quite different from the leather loincloths and warpaint that the guards were wearing.  It was shapeless, but hugged her ample curves, falling to just below mid-thigh.  The guards didn't like that she was touching him; they sprang forward, spears pointed at him, squealing indignantly.  
  
And then...Donna squealed back.  The Doctor's jaw dropped open as the guards fell back, cowering, bowing with more supplicant hums.  Donna could understand them and he couldn't.  He had no idea who these people were, what planet they were on, what language they were speaking.  He felt helpless.  
  
“It's taken me hours to convince them to let me see you,” Donna told him quietly in English.  “They think that you were hurting me, I don't know why.”  
  
“I was crouched over you when they found us,” he whispered.  “I heard them coming and reacted.”  
  
There was another commotion as someone new entered the room.  A woman, taller than anyone else, but still shorter than Donna, strode in with red robes billowing about her, another entourage following her.  Most of the people here were female, the Doctor noticed.  This woman held a staff in her hand that she thumped loudly.  Everyone bowed immediately... except Donna.  Donna stepped towards her, squeaking with her full fury out on display.  The distance between him and Donna felt immense, he couldn't stand it.  
  
The Doctor slipped his bonds with barely any struggle, scrambling to his feet, then closing the distance between them in two quick strides before he staggered, dizzy from the change of position and fatigue.  Donna hissed at him.  Nothing made any sense any more.  He fell to his knees, burying his face into her side, wrapping his long arms about her waist.  There was a lot of uproar around him, but he paid it no heed, so relieved to be reunited with Donna.  Donna was squealing at their captors again, and then everything stopped.  
  
Donna's hands were in his hair, then and the room was absolutely silent.  “What is it?” he asked quietly.  “What did you say?”  
  
“I told them that you saved my life,” she answered.  “They were going to kill you.  I don't know why, but they absolutely hate you.”  
  
“Maybe it's because I'm so tall,” he mumbled in an offhand way.  “Please...is there any way that I could get something to eat, or be taken somewhere to rest?”  
  
Donna got them to bring him a stretcher, and led the way to her rooms, insisting that the guards lay him on the bed and leave them alone.  She kept a hand on his shoulder the entire way, across wooden catwalks and past rope bridges.  Her well appointed hut hadn't been far, and it was such a relief to be able to stretch his form out across the cushion-covered rope mattress, even if his feet did hang off the edge and the foot of the bed dug into his healing shin uncomfortably.  
  
Donna rolled him over gently, and propped his head up in her lap.  She fed him from a tray of food, fruit and dried meat.  He reveled in the sweet sustenance.  Her hand was sticky by the time he was finished, and without even thinking he licked her fingers clean, then cradled her hand to his chest, craving her touch.  He could barely keep his eyes open.  After being awake most of the night, half-carried, half-dragged across the jungle, he was exhausted.  Now that he was with Donna, he couldn't keep his eyes open.  So he slept.  
  
  
  
He woke to a cool cloth being dragged across his now fully healed shin.  His body was damp, not with sweat, but with clean water.  His hands were tied again, but other than that he was comfortable.  Donna was giving him a flannel bath, and his entire body was tingling pleasantly.  He wondered what was in the water.  Donna seemed to not notice him stirring, was scrubbing at his feet vigorously, and then she pulled back, surprised.  
  
“You're awake,” she breathed.  She smiled shyly:  “I've just never seen you with whiskers.”  
  
“Well...” he breathed, smiling up at her, “that's because I've never worn them.”  
  
“Oh, they're all right,” she allowed, a thrill running through her as she stroked his ankle affectionately.  She loved it when he smiled at her like that.  “Could be worse.”  By which she really meant that she thought that he looked dead sexy, but she wasn't about to let on.  
  
He sat up swiftly, kneeling next to her on the bed, and passed his hands over Donna's head and shoulders to pull her to him.  Their lips met, his hard and desperate, hers closed with surprise.  And then she melted against him, opening her mouth in acquiescence, humming with appreciation.  Their tongues dueled, her fingers tangling in his hair, and every cell in his body began to come alive.  He felt as if he had been sleeping his entire life, as if he had always been able to sense the universe, but never able truly see it until now.  Donna pulled away, panting, and lifted herself to straddle him, never breaking the skin to skin contact between them.  She maneuvered her arms up out of the circle of his arms, then guided his hands farther down her body where they found the small her back.  
  
She was definitely aroused.  The crotch of her knickers was damp against his folded thighs, her scent heady, calling to him.  She slid forward until her center was flush against his arousal, and then she undulated her hips against him.  He almost collapsed, but she held him to her, kissing him more leisurely now.   _Her lips_... they were like magic on his mouth, his cheek, his chin,  his ear.  She worked him over inch by inch, coaxing his body to new heights, then moving on, her hips shifting at random intervals, her lower body working against his own in a sweet counterpoint.  He was groaning with need now, desperate for the teasing to stop.  His hips bucked against hers inadvertently, sending delicious friction coursing through them.  Every time she moved above him, he moved in response.  He was desperate to touch her.  
  
So the Doctor broke the bonds at his wrists again, even more efficiently than he had earlier in the day.  He smoothed his hands up and down Donna's back, grounding himself.  Then his hands slid lower, cupping her bum, drifted around to graze her thighs, where he found bare flesh.  Her dress was riding up at her hips, too narrow for her to spread her knees otherwise.  His hands slipped upwards again, this time freeing the cloth and slipping beneath it, and he traced a path up her spine, his touch whisper soft.  She could feel fire sparking to life beneath his fingertips, especially when he stroked bare skin.  She gasped as her body came alive in his arms, wondering.  She had never felt like this with anyone.  She ground against him more forcefully now, the desperation building in her, as well as him.  Heat flared against his palms as his hands dipped lower, beneath the waistband of her knickers, his fingertips brushing against the dimple where her back ended and her most sacred crevice began.  
  
Donna mewled appreciatively as his hands slipped lower, lifting, separating, kneading.  He dipped his mouth to kiss her neck, then lifted her up off of himself, his hands supporting and holding her to stomach, wanting to draw this out.  He could see her peaked nipples through the thin fabric of the dress' bodice, and turned his attention to first one, then the other.  He laved them like a cat cleaning a close companion, then pressed his mouth over the damp spot and sucked, until Donna had covered her mouth with a hand, trying to stifle her moans.  She was writhing against his waist, seeking to find friction again.  He lowered her to his lap again and kissed her until she was about to pass out.  
  
He flipped them over so that she was laying on the bed beneath him, settling between her thighs and propping his torso up with his arms on either side of her head.  She lifted her legs to hug his sides as he started to dry hump her, his hips thrusting almost with a mind of their own.  There were still two layers of fabric between them, steadying him, but something in him was on the verge of breaking free.  She was so wet now that his lap and stomach were damp.  He had been marked with her juices, could smell her everywhere, it was driving him wild with lust.  It didn't help that she was just as desperate for this as he was, that she was meeting him measure for measure.  
  
Donna's head fell back, and her breath started to come in quick pants.  Each of his thrusts was punctuated by a squeak or moan being coaxed from her lips.  She was trying to hold them back, so he ground harder against her, taking it as a challenge.  She was standing on the edge of the precipice, about to fall.  There was a knock on the door.  He ignored it, every atom in his body focused on how to draw more pleasure from Donna's body, how to make her sing, how to nudge her over the edge.  The knocking became more insistent.  
  
“Don't stop,” Donna begged.  His rhythm faltered, the sensations too much to process, and a loud knock--no bang--came from behind the door.  The Doctor rocked his hips against Donna's, desperate, something within him scratching at the corners of his mind, struggling to break free.  He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek.  Their eyes met, and he kissed her again.  Donna's hands lifted to play with his sideburns, brushing up and down the sides of his face.  He pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers brushing against her temple, pelvis drawing the pleasure from her, and the dam broke.  
  
Neither of them heard the door as it was broken open.  The Doctor's body let go, and the psychic wave swept over them both as he and Donna orgasmed together.  He could feel everything Donna felt, hear everything Donna thought, and it was the same for her.  As he called her name, she could sense his name unfolding in his mind.   _Thetsanguinpetrantaregn_.  This awareness washed over her, a realization, but it was instantly swept away, interrupted by the Doctor being forcibly removed from between her thighs as he was pulled back by hostile hands.  
  
{What are you doing?!?} Donna demanded, immediately jumping to her feet.  
  
{We heard cries for help, mistress.}  The Doctor could hear her thoughts pulling away, could understand with her, but then it was gone.  Everything was suddenly hazy, and as he listened he thought he thought he could make out the reassuring hum of the Tardis, far away and nearly imperceptible, but then it was gone, too.  Every nerve in his body was raw, every touch painful as they tried to direct him towards the door.  But the door was too low, his head hit the lintel as they tried to force him through it.  Donna was screaming at the men who had come to her aid, they could probably only understand about half of what she was saying.  Her slapping hands were ineffectual.  It wasn't until Donna pushed them aside to take his hand, to pull him back to herself, that they all stepped back, once again astonished.  The Doctor's connection with her flared back into life, and the passion took his breath away.  Donna's entire body was flushed, sated, thrumming with love and the urge to protect him.  She had told them that she loved him, and then taken his hand.  One of the two actions apparently held great weight in their culture.  They told her that help would be sent to help them prepare for the council, and fled.  
  
Donna wrapped her arms around the Doctor, soothing.  He became aware that he was crying.  The separation had been traumatic and mind-numbing, the initiation of a mating bond interrupted in anger and violence.  Realization washed over him, like ice water.  Donna shushed him as a sob was wrenched from his chest.  
  
“What have I done, what have I done?” he asked her.  Donna kissed him gently, wiping away his tears, and led him to the bed.  
  
“You're all right, spaceman, I won't let anyone hurt you.”  She kissed him on the top of the head as she sat him down.  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
“I can't stop it now,” he whispered.  
  
“Stop what?” she asked.  
  
“I  _lost control_.”  The silence drew out between them, as Donna pondered his words.  She took his hand again, sitting down beside him on the bed as before... before they had done something so humiliating and so glorious that he couldn't even come to terms with it.  
  
“I don't understand,” Donna returned at last.  “Are you ashamed?  You regret being with me?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” he was quick to return, “it was wonderful.”  He didn't even realize it until he had said it, but it was the truth.  “But I'm a Time Lord, this isn't supposed to happen.”  Donna's thoughts had turned back to what they had just done, how much she wanted to take it even further.  Her thoughts became so graphic that the Doctor blushed, bowing his head.  “I can hear what you're thinking when I touch you,” he confessed.  
  
“When you touch my face?”  
  
“Not only then anymore,” he answered.  “Something in me tore loose after the crash.  No...while I was saving you.”  
  
“Tore loose?”  He swallowed again, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers.  Even in the growing darkness, she could see that they were dilated.  Something dark and turbulent lay just beneath the surface, and a thrill shuddered through Donna.  She instinctively knew that she should be afraid, but she wasn't.  Why wasn't she afraid?  
  
“My species is asexual unless a bond is triggered by a great need, by fear and desperation.”  Donna's heart went cold, and she turned away, busying herself by retrieving the forgotten flannel.  
  
“You mean that you couldn't help but want to shag me as a means of ensuring the survival of your species?” she clarified, rinsing the flannel in a basin that sat next to the bed.  
  
“There comes a point where the urge is undeniable,” he allowed, his body so tense that it was vibrating.  “That point will be very soon, sometime within the next 72 hours.  But there has to be  _more_ for a bond to even be initiated,” he assured her.  “There has to already be an emotional connection, an affection and respect and dependence that goes beyond casual friendship.”  Donna's eyes flashed to meet his, hope waking in her once more:  
  
“You depend on me?” she asked.  The Doctor's hearts jumped into his throat:  
  
“So very much,” he whispered.  “You're the only woman I have ever had this with.  When I was married before, we weren't bonded, we had to have hormonal therapy to conceive.  Some Time Lords even cloned their young.  There hasn't been a natural Gallifreyan bonding in thousands of years.  Everything I know about this, I read about in books.”  Donna giggled:  
  
“Sounds like you, to know about everything with your head, but not with your hearts.”  He smiled ruefully.  He heard someone quietly enter the room, and turned to find a short girl--no, woman--carrying a tray.  Behind her, a guard was setting up a screen, to allow them privacy now that their hut had no door.  The woman spoke softly, set the tray on the floor, then curtseyed and left with the old basin.  She had left a new basin in its place, some clothing, and four jars made of hollowed out gourds that held paint in them:  red, yellow, green, and brown.  There was more food, as well, the same proffering as before with an addition of flatbread.  
  
While the Doctor ate, Donna bathed herself.  She did not even turn away as she stripped off her gown and knickers.  His hearts stuttered as she washed between her legs, staring at him fearlessly, watching his body already beginning to react. Donna leaned down to kiss him, then danced away, laughing, before she pulled on the new dress that she had been given.  This one was ornately embroidered, looser fitting, and lower cut in front.  She didn't replace her panties.  
  
“Donna, there's more,” he pronounced just as she said:  
  
“Your turn,” and was sitting down beside him.  She sighed, taking a piece of fruit and biting into it.  “What more can there be?  I love you.”  
  
“And I love you,” he declared before he even realized what he was saying.  “But our bodies aren't...compatible.”  
  
“Could have fooled me.”  
  
The Doctor sighed, and eased his damp pants down, over his half-erect penis and hips, then down and off.  He sat very still, his hands by his side, allowing Donna to see him, her view unimpeded.  They were still touching, so he could hear what she was thinking:   _That's a lot smaller than it_ ** _felt_**.  She had noticed that his penis looked shorter and thinner than those of the human men she was used to.  She was wondering how it would even work, if she would be able to feel it, if he would be able to pleasure her.  
  
“That's what I was trying to tell you,” he interrupted her musings.  “I'm bigger on the inside.”  
  
“On the inside of what?” she asked automatically.  The Doctor swallowed.  
  
“Of you,” he breathed, and she blushed.  “I'm thin but stronger than I look, and everything about me is the same way.  It's a defense mechanism:  a perception filter and dimension pucker combined.  Less to injure, less to show off, so I'm less likely to be taken advantage of if I'm ever in a healing coma in a vulnerable situation.  My pants have more to hide than large pockets...”  
  
“I get it,” Donna interrupted.  A memory had ghosted across her awareness when he obliquely mentioned the possibility of rape.  She tried to shove it aside.  It took her a few moments, but then she remembered his advice from the Ood Sphere and managed to lock it behind a door.  He couldn't help but understand or see, though.  It was all he could do to stay seated on the bed, to not assume a more defensive position.  Everything about this situation was dangerous and felt wrong.  
  
Someone had taken advantage of her in the past.  This realization made him feel physically ill.  It wasn't that he saw her as tainted.  It was because he knew that he might be the next person to treat her in the same way.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he finally managed.  A part of him wished he hadn't seen such a private memory.  Another part of him was stronger, and it took all his strength to suppress this feral side, the side of him that was no stranger to darkness and was the next part of him that would break loose.  Now was not the time to deal with her skeletons in the closet, he needed to prepare her for his.  
  
“I don't want your pity,” she assured him.  “I'm fine.”  They both knew it was a lie.  He wrapped his arms around her, wishing that he could shield her from her past, from the present, from the future.  
  
“There is no part of you that I could ever pity,” he assured her.  
  
“Can I wash you?” she changed the subject.  He swallowed, pulling back.  
  
“If you like.”  
  
Donna carefully passed the damp cloth over his body, washing his stomach first, then working her way downward, across his thighs.  Her thoughts were on her Nan for a moment, remembering how she had bathed her occasionally during her final days.  And then Donna was focused on  _this_ moment completely, curious to more closely examine what he had--up to this point--always kept hidden.  He sighed as she stroked his balls and anus, leaving his erection for last.  She washed his foreskin first, even pulling it back carefully, and lastly the shaft.  Afterward she took him in her hand and began to gently stroke him.  
  
“I don't believe it,” she marveled.  “My eyes are telling me one thing, my hand another.”  Her fingers couldn't quite grasp all the way around his girth.  The Doctor lifted his fingers to brush against her temples, and the perception filter was lifted.  Donna could see what he was genuinely like, just for a few moments.   She had only been able to see his equipment as that of a very small human male before, now she saw that he was really quite different.  Not only was he thicker, but his foreskin covered a greater portion of the head of his shaft than a human male's would.  He looked different, and he thought it was to Donna's credit that she did not flinch or show any revulsion.  She continued stroking him lazily, and in her mind was a flash of something unexpected:  a piece of coral.  Donna was quicker to put this behind a door, had already learned what to do.  This time he did not comprehend the image or its accompanying memory.  “I think I understand now,” she told him.  He allowed his hands to drop.  
  
“You're playing with fire, Donna.”  She let go of him, then, pulling away to give herself some privacy, to keep her thoughts to herself.  He couldn't see what she was thinking anymore, and it hurt not to touch her.  “This is the a time of blood, where I will gradually lose control.  There will be a time where I will be driven to mate with you, and I might not be able to stop myself from hurting you.”  
  
“What if we don't wait?” Donna asked.  “What if we make love before you lose control?  What if you let this happen without fighting it?”  
  
“Donna, I could never choose to hurt you!”  She smiled at him:  
  
“I know, dumbo,” she hugged him, and peace and reassurance washed over him.  “Trust me?”  He hugged her back...tightly, not wanting to let go.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is there a way?”  He sighed.  
  
“If I give in immediately after it begins, I will have more control, but we still have to wait for it to begin.”  
  
“Then we wait,” Donna told him.  
  
“I can't ask you to do this.”  
  
“You don't have to,” she responded, pulling away.  “I'm offering.”  She kissed him gently, then reached down for one of the gourds.  The paint in it was brown, and she dipped a hand in and started smearing it across his chest.  “We have to get fixed up for this council,” she told him.  “So put on your loincloth and put some red and yellow on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me, I never thought i'd write a fic “naming” the Doctor, but after “the Doctor's Wife” it was kind of begging to be done. I mean, if anyone knows the Doctor's name, it's going to be the Tardis, right? So now you're probably wondering what his name means. Well, I started off with Theta Sigma, supposed that Time Lord names are probably complicated prophecies, and then played with Gaiman's Crimson Delight Petrichor password. Looking up crimson led me to sanguinary and sanguine. I really like the Petrichor idea, which is Petra + ichor. I figured i'd throw the Other in there, since there's a theory that the Doctor eventually becomes the Other, not to mention that he is a “renegade”. Other has various origins such as ander/anthar/antara (German/Gothic/Sanskrit respectively). Also for Petrichor, I used the Old English word for rain. So, basically, Thetsanguinpetrantaregn means Theta (good spirit or death), Sanguin- (which is able to be interpreted as joyful/optimistic or marked with blood) Rock Other Rain. I kind of wish the Doctor would go by Peter (though i guess that would open a whole new can of worms when you remember Pete Tyler). xD


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: a return to the musings of part 2. I've been working on this on and of for a while now, it's definitely a labor of love
> 
> Warnings: Extremely frank discussion of masturbation and childbirth imagery. Some people might be disturbed by this. 
> 
> Battle prompt: closets, completely dark, feather, jail cells, jealous Donna, kitchen shenanigans, pain, peaches, pregnancy, running, Tardis' library...though i'm fairly certain this isn't what the prompters originally had in mind.

Donna thought back on what Ood Sigma had said.  He had offered to let her and the Doctor stay on the Ood Sphere.   What would that kind of life have been like?  She had seen someone die today, not just an it, but a person with feelings, maybe even hopes and dreams.  How much was an Ood like a Human?  Donna couldn't be sure.  
  
She couldn't focus.  She had tried reading a book, watching television--as the Tardis kept her up to date with her programs and even let her watch ahead if the desire struck--but nothing kept her attention.  Unfortunately, she couldn't sleep, either.  She was wide awake with memories of the sad song still too fresh.  The Doctor felt that way all the time...alone.  He could “hear” and smell and taste things that she couldn't even imagine.  What if someone could take that away for him?  Would he choose to turn it off, as she had?  Maybe she had acted too quickly, made the wrong choice, but that song still haunted her just the same.  
  
She decided to try another toy in her pleasure kit.  It was time to move the kit to her nightstand drawer.  She made sure her bedroom door was locked, retrieved the bag from her bureau, and laid each piece out on the bed.  She picked them up one by one and instinctively knew what each of them were for.  There was an ordinary dildo that seemed very lifelike.  Three daisy-shaped vibrating suction cups were for external use only; those were perfect for providing nipple or clitoral stimulation and leaving her hands free for other things.  One toy was a miniature version of a knobby ball on the console that the Doctor manipulated daily, using it to set course or some such, that was perfect for massaging tired muscles.  
  
Then there was one that looked like a spider that was for a scalp massage.  She eased it onto her head tentatively, and her entire body shuddered in surprise, nearly collapsing onto the bed.  The sensations were so intense that she didn't know which way was up.  She could feel something tugging at her mind, was certain that she was on the edge of a  _mental_ breakthrough--a braingasm?--after only about ten seconds.  Her memories were too raw right now, this was too much.  So Donna set it aside, wondering if she could build up a tolerance to it in the future.  
  
All of the toys were intriguing, but tonight she just wanted someone to fuck her brains out.  She had almost decided to go home today, she didn't want to think of Ood Song, or what the Doctor felt, or how many other cultures there were out there that were subjugating other species.  She tried the daisies and the simple dildo.  Unfortunately, even after twenty minutes her wrist was sore and she wasn't getting anywhere.  The Tardis had been nudging her from time to time, revealing a few tricks that had made her squirm, she granted her that, but it wasn't hitting the right spot.  She couldn't clear her mind, and the dildo was simply too small, she needed more.  So Donna grabbed the wedge for the first time since her bath.  It felt larger in her hand than she had remembered.  She must be imagining things.  
  
The wedge slid home effortlessly, and Donna instantly felt better.  The wedge was warm and organic, not cold and sterile.  Somehow, it almost felt as if a man was slowly pumping in and out of her, even though she wasn't even manually manipulating it.  She rotated her hips, reveling in the sensations that were slowly pulsing through her body.  A heightened awareness was suffusing from mid-thigh to bellybutton, waking up her body as it spread through her.  She arched upwards, off the bed, stretching, gasping with delight. Her legs trembled in anticipation, and Donna flipped over to bury her face in a pillow just as the waves started to wash over her.  
  
She had never been this vocal in the past unless she was putting on a show for a conquest.  But then...she had never felt this way before.  The wedge was relentless.  After her first orgasm, it folded as it had the first time she used it.  Donna plucked the daisy off her clit and flipped back onto her back.  She started to rub herself with her fingers, wanting to draw this out.  After her orgasm had receded, the wedge-turned-fist began to pulse, larger and larger, filling her more, almost pushing her over the edge only to interrupt, then nudge her over again, torturing her with sweet ecstasy.  Donna gasped and writhed against the bed, wondering how long she could withstand this.  The sensations gradually spread outwards, towards her toes, upwards to cover her entire chest, until her body itself was vibrating from knee to collarbone.  
  
Donna panted with abandon.  She had no idea where she ended and the Tardis began.  The entire universe was the pleasure that was barely verging on pain.  She'd never felt so good, so whole.  She couldn't stop moaning, bit down on the back of her hand  _hard_ ,  all capability to think lost.  The wedge stopped teasing and guided her skyward again until she fell off the cliff, down, through wave after wave of pleasure, drawing it out until Donna could not remember a time where she hadn't felt this way.  
  
Donna had fallen asleep before it had ended...with the wedge still inside of her.  She awoke to the pleasant sensation of being full.  Her dreams...she couldn't remember them, but she could remember that she had been happy.  Really happy.  There was no pain.  Donna barely felt a twinge after guiding the wedge out and applying to the Tardis' soothing cream.  She felt as if she was glowing.  She felt as if she was capable of anything.  Who knew that life on the Tardis would be like this?  
  
  
  
Everything had changed.  The Doctor had given her a key to the Tardis, he had whispered sweet nothings in her ear as she faced the most terrifying moment of her life--her, reprogramming alien technology, who would have ever guessed that?--and then that stupid, mad Martian had gone and nearly gotten himself killed.  Something in Donna had broken for those two minutes that he had been above in orbit and she had been below in a private school gone bonkers.  The Tardis had even tried to comfort her, but she had been disconsolate.  She had felt as if she had lost a part of herself.  It wasn't that there would be no more traveling, it was that she had let the Doctor down.  She hadn't stopped him from going too far.  How daft could you be, killing yourself to try to save an irreparably violent species?  She wanted to hate him.  But she couldn't.  She felt something more, something impossible, something inexpressible.  She didn't understand it.  
  
She didn't even know what to think anymore, so Donna packed an overnight bag and decided to stay in her old room.  No, she wasn't leaving him, she  _couldn't_  leave him now, not even if she wanted to, but she needed some space.  She had eaten dinner with her family, then gone up to her bed as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do.  Only...it wasn't.  This wasn't home anymore.  The wardrobe was nearly empty.  She used a different brand of toothpaste now.  Her old bed felt wrong, was uncomfortable and unfamiliar after sleeping on the Tardis for so long.  
  
The distance between her and the Doctor felt monumental rather than welcome.  But now that he was back, he felt too close.  She lost either way.  She wanted to hug him as easily as Martha had.  She couldn't.  So she had come home to do her duty, to let her family know she was fine.  She was strong enough to sleep in her old bed for one night, she didn't have to sleep on the Tardis now.  No way was she giving in.  
  
She recalled that the Tardis had slipped a few mementos into her bag.  Somehow the kit had fallen in between the blouse she was planning to wear the next day and her nightgown.  Donna inwardly debated whether she should retrieve it.  She wasn't really in the mood.  It wasn't that her body didn't want some relief, because the day's near death experiences had left her feeling plenty stimulated.  It was the fact that everything was so raw and confusing emotionally.  She also couldn't imagine losing control of herself while in the bedroom right next to her mother and across the hall from her grandad.  The walls in this house were paper thin, and she had come to trust the Tardis to ensure her privacy was upheld while losing control in her room.  She had never imagined a time where she could become unhinged and overflow vocally, but now it happened all the time.  
  
She sighed, finally deciding to open the kit and extricate the spider, but leaving the rest of the toys alone.  The spider had a smooth copper handle and long, thin, silver-hued legs.  She sat on her bed, cross-legged, bodily and mentally tired, yet wide awake.  She eased the spider onto her head.  Her scalp tingled pleasantly.  Donna guided the spider up and down, the legs sliding through her hair easily.  A shudder went down her spine, her temples tickling.  The sensations were less intense than on the Tardis, and thus more bearable, but it still woke her body up suddenly, after only a few moments.  She continued massaging her scalp, breathing deeply, eyes closed, head lolling backwards in appreciation.  
  
After two minutes, Donna had to use one hand to prop herself up so she wouldn't sink to the mattress.  She wanted to get the wedge out now, the ember in her lower stomach starting to spark to life, demanding attention.  There was no way she would be giving into that urge tonight.  But maybe just a little bit longer...she felt almost as if on the cusp of something new.  Her face itched, envious of the attention her scalp and the nape of her neck were receiving.  She could almost imagine a breath ghosting across her earlobe.  
  
_Brilliant_...it promised.  Donna squeaked and fell back as her brain orgasmed.  It wasn't her body, it was her mind unfolding like a flower, nudged larger, pulsing with new awareness.  The Tardis hummed within her soul, her chest ached, she could hear her own heartbeat.  It was similar to on the Ood Sphere, only pleasurable rather than sad.  Instead of Ood Song there was Tardis Song, a cacophonous wave of possibilities and improbabilities and certainties.  It was overwhelming for a fraction of a second which felt like an eternity.  And then Donna woke up.  
  
Her mother was knocking on the door:  
  
“Donna, are you okay?!?  You squealed as if you'd seen a mouse!  Donna!  Open this door this instant!”  
  
Donna slipped the spider into her kit and stuffed it into the bottom of her bag.  She dashed across the room, unlocking her door and sticking her head out into the hall.  
  
“It was just a spider,” Donna stated grumpily.  “I've killed it, now go back to bed.”  
  
“Well...if you're sure if you're all right...”  Donna could tell just looking into her mother's eyes that Sylvia wanted to launch into another tirade against the Doctor.  She had made it perfectly clear at dinner that she expected Donna to have nothing more to do with 'that man' ever again.  Donna had ignored her.  
  
“Good night,” Donna said firmly.  She closed the door and crossed the room to fall onto the bed.  She could still hear the Tardis whistling, almost like a mosquito in her ear, but far less annoying.  The Tardis was impatient, and yet...feeling entirely self-satisfied.  Donna yawned, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.  Tomorrow....  
  
  
  
Donna was sure now... the wedge was growing each time she used it.  She turned it over in her hand, remembering what it had once felt like, marveling at what it felt like now in comparison.  She never would have guessed that such a small thing could change her so much, and it wasn't so small anymore.  It wasn't  _huge_ by any means, but it was large.  Too large for her to have been able to pick it up when she had seen it for the first time and ever think that it would comfortably fit inside her.  
  
This realization had set her to worrying:  what if she became so stretched out that her next boyfriend wouldn't even be able to feel pleasure while making love to her?  Would he think she had been doing nothing but having sex with multiple men for the past twenty years (not that she had restricted herself to a mere handful, but it wasn't as if she was ever involved in any orgies).  Could she go back to the way things had been now?  She was pretty sure that she didn't want to.  She'd never felt so young, fit, or alive.  
  
And who was she kidding, she seriously doubted that she would ever have another sexual partner, not at this point in her life.  She had told Martha that she was going to travel with the Doctor forever, and she had meant it.  It wasn't like the Doctor and she fancied each other!  She was nearly forty, and the men weren't exactly lining up, and the Doctor needed her.  She couldn't even imagine leaving him, not anymore.  If she could face Adipose and Pyroviles and Ood and Sontaran, how hard could this job be?  There was nothing wrong with doing this for herself, was there?  It was healthy, even.  Besides, large as the wedge was, it was nowhere near as large as the head of a newborn baby.  Her body was made to accommodate one of those, surely this wasn't stretching things too much.  Might as well let go and have some fun while she still could.  
  
Her only regret was...well, no need to mope, wishing wouldn't change anything.  It was much better to simply squirt some lubricant onto the wedge, guide it inside herself, to lay back and let the Tardis make her body sing.  Had Jenny ever felt anything like this?  Had the Doctor?  Donna's face burned with embarrassment:  where had that thought come from?  But her mind wandered, almost with a mind of its own, like she couldn't stop it from jumping to the next question, burning away in the back of her mind.  
  
What did the Doctor do for...relief?  He had once had children.  Surely that would have required him to be sexually active.  But he wasn't now, at least, not with a Time Lady. Not with Martha.  And certainly not with  _her_.  So did the Tardis make him comfortable, too?  Was there some specially shaped peace of coral that he was thrusting away into right now, here, at this very moment, in his own room?  
  
_Oh, you're brilliant, you are_...she remembered.  Donna's entire body was suddenly tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, alive, aware, aroused.  She had said,  _I'm through_ ; what if that had been his line?  A completely innocent conversation--well, to be honest, it had sounded a  _little_ naughty--suddenly filled with possibility.  The wedge twitched and nudged within her, as if alive, even eager.  And then it began to pulse, so realistically that if she hadn't know better she would have though that she was being pumped into with complete abandon.  In fact, she could almost believe that it was the Doctor's little Martian pistoning into her with the perfect mix of need and restraint.   _Now...hurry up_.  Her breath came in sharp gasps.  She grasped at the blanket--no, the Doctor's coat--for purchase.  She imagined it with perfect clarity, laid out beneath her, cushioning her from the uncomfortable bench in the jail cell from earlier in the day, wrapped around her enough to shield her from view if the guard heard, but still laid bare to her lover.  Jenny wasn't here, it was only her and the Doctor.  
  
_Donna, hold on, I'm coming_ , and Donna did.  She came, unable to stop herself from emitting a yelp of surprise at how quickly and powerfully it swept through her.  The wedge stuttered, twitched, throbbed with life.  There was no pause; one orgasm gave way to another as she imagined being found by that guard, and the Doctor was so engrossed with the task at hand that he didn't even falter.  He kept going.  He brought her body to new heights and every cell in Donna's body was alive.  Soft suede that smelled of him, of rain in the desert.  His weight pressing down on her, pinning her down, helpless to resist.  Nothing between them, no clue as to where her body ended and the Doctor's began.  One.  
  
Donna's eyes flashed open.  She lay alone, gasping for air, on her own bed, in the Tardis.  Where had that come from?  
  
  
  
“No one knows how they're gonna be remembered,” the Doctor had said.  Donna couldn't help but remember how sad Agatha had been.  Donna's friends and mother had always claimed that happiness didn't depend on a man.  She had always believed and claimed it just as adamantly.  And what had Donna told Agatha?  That it was the Doctor who had made her happy.  And Agatha had taken that to heart.  
  
Donna sat in the Tardis library, flipping through a biography on Agatha Christie.  She had ultimately lived a long, happy life.  She had written books and plays, remarried, traveled the world, become even more famous.  Had she followed Donna's advice, even though she couldn't consciously remember it?  Donna closed the biography, trying not to look at the Doctor.  
  
He was sitting on the other side of the couch, engrossed in a novel.  He had flipped through it, proclaimed it to be “fairly interesting at the end, bit dull until halfway through,” and then proceeded to randomly flip through the book again, pausing to pore over particular pages.  He was still doing this, his long fingers caressing the pages absentmindedly, his specs perched on the tip of his nose.  
  
Donna's lips tingled.  She forced herself not to squirm.  First she had experienced her inadvertent fantasy, now there was a kiss to try to forget.  She couldn't even look at the console anymore without blushing.  She didn't want to be with the Doctor...not like that.  So why was it so hard to sit still?  To not close the distance between them and situate herself in his lap just before snogging him senseless?  Why?  
  
And now he had suggested a beach.  That meant walking together in firmly established as romantic setting while scantily clad.  She always kept herself covered around the Doctor.  The Doctor always kept his body covered around her.  She could only imagine what he looked like beneath his shirt and trousers.  She had rarely seen him with his jacket off, let alone anything else.  Even now his jacket was close at hand, draped over the arm of the couch.  Tomorrow, yet another barrier would be broken between them.  She wanted to run away and hide.  She wanted to strut across the console room clad in nothing but a swimsuit.  What was wrong with her?  The Doctor was only a friend.  The Doctor would only ever be a friend.  Period.  
  
  
  
Stupid psychic paper, she had half a mind to burn it.  It had ruined a perfectly good day.  Why did the Doctor keep trying to shove her back into the Tardis?  He had spent all day talking up that archaeologist with a fake name.  How could she know the Doctor?  Donna's Doctor.  The Doctor Donna, forever, that was what the Ood had said.  She didn't trust that woman, not so far as the door.  And the Doctor had to go and be an idiot and get her stuck in a fake computer world.  Most infuriating at all, he was probably still moping about that woman's death, right now, and she couldn't even blame him.  Why did he have to be so compassionate?  So perfect?  
  
Donna was trying not to cry.  Everything was so confusing.  She was jealous.  She missed Lee.  She wanted to hold her children.  Her biological clock was screaming at her.  She never wanted to touch a baby again.  Everything  _hurt_ , was raw, sad and angry wrapped up all together.  Of course she didn't want a man like Lee, a man so sweet and unassuming and non-controversial.  They had never fought.  She had never had to clean up after him, he was neater than her, and he never complained when she had forgotten to do the laundry or wash up after dinner.  Such a man couldn't even be real...could he?  
  
No, Lee would have driven her crazy after a week.  She liked having a bit of clutter.  There was a stack of books on her nightstand.  She still hadn't finished unpacking after her visit at home, the bag had been left sitting on the floor in the loo and she kept tripping over it.  She never cleaned the bathroom anymore, the Tardis automatically did it for her.  She rarely made the bed, just changed the sheets once a week or if her experimentation got too messy.  She and the Doctor always did the washing up together after dinner.  And then they would read in the library, or watch the telly in the lounge, or have some ice cream and laugh about their latest adventure.  There was never a dull moment, not on the Tardis.  
  
They did everything together.  They were happy together.  So why was she so sad?  Why had she wanted the lie to be real?  She had known that it was wrong, but she had gone along with it.  It had been easier than fighting.  Donna fought everything so hard.  She was always screaming at the universe.  No one ever listened.  The Doctor didn't think of her as anything more than a friend, and he never would, she needed to snap out of it.  Only, she didn't know how to.  
  
She got the wedge out out of its kit.  She didn't know why she even wanted to use it right now, but it was just something to do, to try to take her mind off things yet again.  But it didn't work.  She lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of the Doctor, or Lee, or Ella and Joshua.  She couldn't even remember what it had been like to carry them, or give birth.  She supposed that some women would have killed for that, but she had loved those children as if they had been her own, as if she had given birth to them herself, only she couldn't remember.  Why couldn't she remember?  
  
Because it hadn't really happened.  The computer had been wrong, it had jumped over the most important bits.  Of course she had decided to get married and have children, it had been all she had ever really wanted, but upon deciding she had arrived at her destination.  It was like someone had taken a remote control and skipped over the most important moments of her life.  It wasn't just holding her babies and smiling for a camera, it was kissing her Ella's scraped knee, watching Joshua take his first steps, cleaning flour off the kitchen floor because the twins had discovered that the pantry was fun to get into.  She wanted to remember the back aches, and the cravings, and what it felt like to give birth.  She wanted to remember first words, what outfit the twins were brought home from the hospital in, shopping for the toys and furniture when she was barely showing, unable to contain her excitement, blowing out birthday candles, tantrums and teething, and she couldn't.  
  
What had the sex with Lee been like?  It had never even happened, there hadn't been a need for it in that world, but what would it have been like?  Would it have been awkward, with him stuttering towards completion, no stamina, just get it over with?  Or would he have been a tender lover, making sure she was always ready, never rough, never spontaneous, never impassioned?  Or would they have done it everywhere?  Might he have taken her against the tree that they took shelter from the rain under the very first time they went fishing?  Did they anoint every room in the house?  She wanted to know, she wanted to live, she craved it.  
  
Just as she had with the Doctor.  Now that she had started fantasizing about him, she hadn't been able to stop.  He had invaded her dreams, her daydreams, her ordinary thoughts while doing ordinary things.  What if they had checked into the same hotel that Agatha had?  Slipped away and explored the gardens before drinks on the lawn?  Pressed against bookshelves in the Tardis library?  Kept each other warm on the frigid Ood Sphere?  Lost control in the kitchen, knocking dishes off the counter and not even noticing?  Her mind wouldn't stop dreaming up new scenarios.  She couldn't even look at the Doctor anymore.  
  
Donna realized that there were tears that were sliding down her cheeks, into her ears and hair.  She wished that someone were here to brush them away.  After a moment, she was acutely aware that the wedge had never been so large before.  But it was still, as if waiting for something else.  It had expanded until the pleasure was bordering on pain.  Her fingertips dipped lower inquiringly, searching for the leash, but it was gone.  She had been massaging her clitoris and labia minora distractedly.  She wanted to focus, to stop this torrent of negative thoughts.  
  
Donna sat up smoothly, sliding across the bed to the nightstand.  This felt awkward with the wedge inside her, but it didn't do so much as shift.  It was too large right now to fall out.  Without the leash, she wasn't sure how she was going to get it out if she didn't move things further along.  She opened the drawer and found the spider resting directly inside.  She had never tried using it in concert with the wedge.  She had forgotten about it after using it that night in Chiswick.  She decided to use it tonight.  She wanted to forget.  She wanted to fall asleep unable to think of anything but what was happening to her body.  She wanted all rational thought to disappear.  So she picked up the spider and lay back down.  
  
Donna's hairline prickled as soon as she slid the legs around her head.  She willed her body to relax.  And once again, her body came alive incrementally, her mind opened to hear the Tardis singing to her.  It was more intense, but muted enough to not be overwhelming.  She had learned.  After a mere minute, something in her mind unlocked.  This time, it was not enough to cause a braingasm, but her body woke up the rest of the way.  Her skin was flushed, she was so hot that she had to strip.  Pulling her nightgown off dislodged the spider, but the awareness that it had guided her into remained.  
  
And then Donna could almost imagine that someone's hands were on her body, the Doctor's hands.  Lee's hands had been wider, rounder, while the Doctor's hands were long, and thin, and bony.  Yes, it was his cool hands caressing her flushed flesh.  She panted as he peppered kisses across her skin.  His hands were everywhere, she was growing wetter just thinking about it, and then it was his hand within her, not the wedge.  She was so wet that his hand had slipped right in without any pain.  He remained still, allowing her to adjust, the tension was exquisite.  And then he shifted his fist infinitesimally and she was floating.  
  
She could imagine a future.  In this future, she and the Doctor were madly in love.  They fought like cats and dogs, but they belonged to each other.  She could sense her belly grow large, filled with new life.  She could see the places they would travel to, hand in hand.  She could feel the power of her body, laboring to bring that life into the world...  
  
Donna grunted, her body bearing down.  She panted, flipping over onto all fours, and her hand cupped her sex.  The wedge was now a tight ball of pressure, her labia was bulging as if pressed open by the head of a baby.  She was giving birth to the wedge, and she knew it wasn't real, that it wasn't anywhere near as large as a real baby, but the prophecy remained, fresh in her mind, overwhelmingly real.  She could feel peach fuzz and a heartbeat beneath her fingertips.  
  
_Be careful what you wish for_ , her mother had always taunted.  Another orgasm, and Donna could see another prophecy behind her eyes.  The Doctor's body was moving behind hers, taking her from behind.  He was relentless, pounding into her without mercy, each stroke punctuated by a growl.  In her minds eye she embraced him, accepted this, somehow knew that this was beyond his control, was even excited by his loss of control.  He loved her with utter abandon.  She was getting  _so wet_  just thinking about it.  
  
Her body was bearing down again, and Donna flipped over, scooting backwards until she was laying against the headboard, knees spread and pulled to her chest as she had seen in movies and on television her entire life.  She suddenly felt the urge to flee, was pulled deeper inside herself as the contraction peaked and she orgasmed again.  She was sitting in the tub in her bathroom--no, she was sitting in the Doctor's lap--and her first child was starting to slide forward, out of her.  There was no pain, not really, just the power of her body doing what it was designed to do, awe inspiring.  The Tardis sang to her, the Doctor's breath was on her ear, encouraging.  
  
Donna sobbed, shoving herself forward, off the headboard, so that she was squatting over the tangled blankets on the bed. There was more room inside of her now, the other position had left them feeling tight and trapped.  She held a hand over the tiny ball of peach fuzz, holding it back.  She didn't want to let go of this moment.  She wanted it to stop.  She would do anything for it to stop.  She would push with the next wave and get it over with.  
  
Donna was screaming, hands pressed against two walls, back to the corner.  She was kneeling in a jail cell as she pushed a preemie out, onto the Doctor's coat.  It felt as if she was being ripped in two.  
  
They were in the Underground, hiding from something, dust heavy in the air.  She didn't make a sound.  The Doctor stopped when she inhaled abruptly, halting mid-stride, holding her up.  The baby felt as if it was about to fall out of her.   She could feel a ring of fire now.  She muffled her whimper of surprise and fear in his shoulder as the ring grew.  
  
They were in a garden, tiny feathers of flower pollen caressing her skin, and her water broke.  They were in a desert, huddled in the back of a hot bus, and two unknown women were holding her hands.  She was alone in a closet, moaning stridently.  She was seated in the Tardis library, the head of one of her children on her belly, two more in the arms of the Doctor.  She was naked on a bed in the Tardis, humming the same song of her ancestors and descendents, aware of every mother and child and husband that ever was and is and will be and could have been, but removed, separate.  
  
The ball slid forth into her hands, slick with her body's juices.  The ring of fire was gone.  There was no blood, only pain and pleasure braided together.  The orgasm continued to ripple through her body, causing her legs to shudder.  Donna collapsed to the bed, the sphere cradled to her chest, and sobbed.  
  
Ella and Joshua were with her, would always be a part of her.  Her love made them real.  Did that make her could-have-beens and never-would-bes just as real?  The Tardis whispered to her:   _Yes._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: yeah, I find myself still delaying a bit. I hope no one will mind. I mean, come on, i couldn't just skip them applying the body paint, now could i?
> 
> Battle prompts: blindfolded, bound and gagged, bigger on the inside, body paint, campfire, firelight, and per usual (for me) Gallifreyan differences with some Gallifreyan mating cycle thrown in for good measure.

Donna's hands were soft and hot on his back.  She smoothed the paint across his shoulders, shoulder blades, dorsal ribs, mole, and spine, quickly and efficiently.  The plant based substance spread across his skin smoothly, like soft butter, or syrup on hot pancakes.  He normally wouldn't have considered this to be a sensuous gesture until about twenty-four hours ago.  Now he knew better.  
  
Donna's hands faltered at his hips.  He was still naked.  She had told him to get dressed, but all rational thought had left his mind the moment she had touched him.  She smoothed her hands lower, across his bum, then outward across his hips, her fingertips lingering at certain dips and dimples.  She moved around to his front, and her palms slid up, over his hip bones, then down the crevice where his leg and torso met.  The Doctor's hips jerked unexpectedly, and he sat down, his knees opening invitingly.  He whimpered.  Donna's hands stilled.  Her glance flitted up to his face for only a moment, then returned to the task at hand.  
  
Donna retrieved some more of the paint, and smoothed both shades around his left thigh.  The Doctor sat still obediently, his breathing the only outward sign of how she was affecting him.  The dimension pucker left his cock looking quiescent, but in reality he was half erect, thrumming, a sort of  _itch_ spreading downwards from the tip, barely noticeable at first, now growing insistent.  He resisted the urge to adjust himself or touch his burgeoning desire.  He focused on the fact that Donna had already moved on to his knee, calf and shin, was now lifting his foot and brushing the paint across his instep and toes.  
  
Left leg done, she resumed with his right foot and started working her way up.  His shaft tingled insistently the closer her hands came to his desire, adrenaline mixing with anticipation.  It took her only moments for her hands to sweep up his right shin and calf, fingertips tickling behind his knee, palms smoothing up his thigh.  So close, and yet so far away, from the place that maintained it  _needed_ to be touched.  
  
“Donna,” he croaked, the word barely audible beneath the moan of desire that unexpectedly accompanied her name.  The back of her hand had inadvertently brushed against his scrotum.  “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?” he asked.  He lowered his hand to grasp his insistent erection, and Donna watched, silently.  He rubbed his shaft from base to head three times.  A cream oozed from the tip.  The briny smell hang heavy on the air, instantly filling the room.  He scooped the gel up with the fingertips of his left hand, and instinctively reached for Donna.  Their lips met gently, and with his left hand he marked the nape of her neck, growling in disapproval when his hand encountered the fabric of her dress.  
  
Donna made no move to object or sign of repulsion.  She deepened the kiss, shifted her hands against his waist.  Her hands found his lower abdomen as she rose to sit on his knees.  Then she lifted her arms invitingly, her hands closed around the damp paint, and he slid the dress over her head, baring her body to him again.  The dress was instantly abandoned and forgotten, his hands returning to his dripping erection.  He barely needed to brush his fingertips down his length to seep more of the fluid.  He pumped himself once and produced a handful.  This he spread down Donna's spine, paying particular attention to the small of her back and dosing the nape of her neck again.  
  
Next he cupped her breasts possessively.  Donna pressed her chest forward into his palms.  He kneaded them, learning their weight, then dipped his fingertips to his foreskin to retrieve a dollop for each areola.  Donna kissed him, and he pumped himself again.  His cock had stopped tingling now that he had marked her, but he wasn't done yet.  It took him seven pumps to produce the rest of the thick fluid.  Once he had filled his palm with the gel he dropped his penis.  The urge sated, it was soft and limp again.  The Doctor lowered his empty hand to cup Donna's sex.  
  
Donna gasped, breaking the kiss off.  He licked her cheek inquisitively.  “May I?” he found enough voice to ask.  
  
“Yes,” she moaned.  He had heard her reply before she had voiced it.  His fingers dipped to part her labia.  The heel of his palm rubbed against the swollen lips and clit as his fingertips gently probed.  Donna was very wet, both hot and fragrant.  Her heady scent was still potent.  A part of him wanted to push her back on the bed, press his mouth over her sex, and drive her wild with ecstasy.  This, oddly enough, was the rational part of his mind starting to reassert itself.  The currently dominant, instinct-driven side of him knew that his task wasn't done.  
  
The Doctor retrieved some of the gel and began to massage it into Donna's clitoris.  He was dimly aware that she had also retrieved some more paint and was now spreading it across his stomach.  Most of his mind was focused on gently completing the task at hand.  His fingers dipped lower, careful to massage the gel into the skin that comprised Donna's apex.  His fingers caressed anus, perineum, and the entire vulva, even the auburn curls that covered the outer portion of her labia majora.  In return, every time his fingers grew slick with her juices, he swiftly marked his own apex with them before retrieving more gel.  Most of the handful still remained.  
  
Donna's hands grasped his shoulders, pausing in their own ministrations.  She was tense for the first time.  He needed to know, needed to finish this, his mind swam with confusion as to why he was even hesitant.  
  
“Donna?” he asked.  Her fear washed over him, only momentary.  She washed her hands quickly, fumbling to get the paint off of her right hand.  Next, she pressed two fingers inside herself, coating them with her own brand of arousal.  This was easy and familiar to her.  She was comfortable with her body.  She spread her juices across his collarbone with teasing certainty.  Then her hand drifted with practiced ease back to her hot center to draw out the desire, heightening her pleasure.  The Doctor pressed his hand against hers, learning from Donna what made her body sing, fingers increasing and decreasing the pressure in a complicated dance.  
  
Donna started to manipulate her clit as he retrieved some gel and pressed it deep inside of her, utilizing the full length of his two longest fingers.  Donna clenched against him, not in pain, but in invitation.  His fingertips brushed against her cervix inquiringly.  His touch confirmed what his stolen taste had told him:  she was receptive.  He stroked her cervix gently, with soft, circular motions.  He pulled out gradually, coated three of his fingers, and eased them inside Donna's moist vagina.  
  
Miraculously, she wasn't as tight as he had expected.  Her body did clench around his fingers in protest this time, but there was room to accommodate him, and she quickly adapted to his presence.  He twisted his hand slowly, thoroughly coating her inner walls, mixing their fluids, marking Donna as his own.  Were his own kind nearby, they would know that she was his now.  He had seventy-two hours to take her officially.  If he could not perform, or Donna rebuffed his advances, or he could not forcibly take her, then she would no longer be his...ever.  His body would no longer find her desirable and would return to its inactive, asexual state and remain dormant until such a time that he found another desired partner, if that ever occurred.  This was unlikely, but not impossible.  Time Lords did, after all, have a very long lifespan, on the outside of three thousand years if one was careful.  But bondings tended to only occur once in a lifetime, even after the eventual final death of a spouse.  Bonded Time Lords were monogamous throughout multiple regenerations.  
  
The Doctor had never been careful with his lives.  He smoothly extracted his hand and coated it one last time with the last of the gel.  He wanted to slide his entire hand inside Donna now.  He knew that he would not be able to do this, that her body could not receive him, but this was what he sensed the next step in this process would normally be.  If any of this was normal.  
  
He whispered to Donna in Gallifreyan, Θ~I seal thee as mine.~ς  He gently eased four of his fingertips inside of her, each of them twisted to overlap one another, to compact as much as possible, in a modified duckbill.  He paused just before reaching the depth of his fingers' first knuckles.  Donna's hand closed around his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin.  She wasn't trying to stop him, she was adjusting to the sudden discomfort and tightness.  Her touch was a silent request for him to neither continue nor withdraw.  Her vagina quivered around his fingers, she teetered on the edge but didn't fall, and then she managed to relax.  Donna withdrew her hand, giving him permission to continue.  
  
The Doctor eased his fingers in just a bit further, over the first knuckles, only halfway to the second, fingertips brushing her cervix again.  Donna had plenty of room inside, and he never would have guessed that they could have gone this far.  Her hymen was more flexible than anticipated, her opening larger than he would have thought.  He finally allowed himself to hope that maybe this was possible, for them to be joined as husband and wife.  He bent his fingers, stroking her walls with whisper soft pressure.  He twisted his wrist so that the knuckles of his fingers were pressed to Donna's g-spot, his free hand lifting to thumb her clit, as her previously self-occupied hand had fallen to the side, forgotten.  The air was charged in the intimacy of this moment, continuing to forge the bond, which required a connection of both body and soul.  
  
The Doctor allowed his hand to relax minutely.  Donna squirmed against his hand.  He pressed his knuckles more firmly against Donna's g-spot and she came apart around his hand, orgasming with a moan that she pressed into his throat, collapsing forward onto his arms and chest.  Her hands tangled in his hair, and his thumb continued its ministrations, drawing the sensations out.  
  
“Please,” she supplicated.  She wanted this to end.  She wanted it to never end.  He eased his hand in mere millimeters more, pressing the slightest bit...  She fell over the edge again.  This time, it was the Doctor's mouth that swallowed her moans with a kiss.  New fluid coated his hand, squirting from Donna's body with the force of her releases.  This made it easier for him to extract his hand with infinite care once the spasms had mostly ceased.  He smeared the fluid over his penis, scrotum, perinium, and inner thighs.  
  
Donna was reaching for the water to wash again.  The Doctor growled at her, and she froze.  He retrieved the towel and dried her, relieved to see no blood, but he was not about to let her wash off his scent.  He dipped his fingers into the red and yellow paint and started spreading it across her first her thighs, then upwards over her hips and belly, caressing her soft, ripe curves.  Donna reached for more of the brown and green and began to paint his arms.  
  
Within a matter of minutes, Donna was covered from collarbone to toes.  He left her apex and areolas unpainted, and helped her back into her dress.  They kissed, then he painted her neck, throat, and face, writing an approximation of Donna's name in Gallifreyan on her cheeks.  He didn't care what she painted on his own face.  He placed a green thumbprint in the indentation at the base of her throat, then where her cleavage began.  He pulled on his loincloth, assured that he had touched every centimeter of Donna Noble's body, and no one else would ever do the same.  They were ready.  
  
  
  
The Doctor and Donna walked hand in hand.  He was covered from head to foot in brown and green paint...except for the fact that his palms were red and yellow.  All he wore was a brown loincloth.  Donna looked quite different.  She was covered in red and yellow paint, and her dress matched.  The red was the same, and the golden thread was similar in hue.  Her hands were brown and green.  Neither of them was showing a sliver of unpainted or uncovered flesh.  Everyone they walked past was clad the same way, except the Doctor was the only one in greens and browns.  The males here (few as they were) wore loincloths that where made or a reddish-tan leather, rather than brown.  
  
Donna led the way, and the Doctor willingly remained a step behind.  They returned to the platform where they had been reunited earlier in the day.  That already seemed like a lifetime ago.  Everyone they had passed stared at them, at their hands.  The woman with the staff stood when she saw them, a frown on her face.  She turned the staff so it was horizontal and spoke in a series of hums and squeaks.  
  
{I had hoped that the report was wrong,} the woman stated heavily.  Donna heard the words, not the sounds.  The Doctor heard the sounds, felt the meaning through his link with Donna.  
  
{No,} Donna responded.  {Our intention is clear.}  
  
{Are things so misunderstood of the gods?}  
  
{We are not gods.}  
  
{You continue to maintain, though fallen from sky. What doth this portend?}  Donna stood in silence, listening to the Tardis whisper to her.  The Doctor could not make this exchange out.  At last, Donna sighed, turning to stare at him:  
  
{The future.}  The Doctor could see it in her eyes, didn't even need to listen to Donna's thoughts.  Even though they were standing hand in hand, even though they had shared new intimacy, Donna did not really believe where she was standing.  He caught a snatch of what the Tardis was telling her:   _you are ready_.  He swallowed heavily, uncertain.  The rational side of him was strong for a moment, and shared Donna's concerns.  Were either of them ready for this?  
  
The staff thumped, and Donna turned back to the sage.  The woman sighed, and closed her eyes.  
  
{I have meditated long, but wisdom fails me. This will add to contention.}  
  
_|Conception|_ , the Tardis whispered to him.  He looked at Donna.  Had she heard that?  She made no sign that she had.  She couldn't hear his thoughts the way that he could hear hers, and the maid had warned them that he should not speak.  So he remained silent.  As long as they held hands, and he did not disrupt, they would be safe.  This was what had been promised.  
  
The sage turned, and everyone stood.  They were all ready.  They walked in a long parade down a wide catwalk.  The path twisted around the large tree, down towards the ground.  The Doctor realized that this was the open route, where welcome visitors were ushered.  All of the routes leading further into the settlement had been up rope ladders or across rope bridges that could be pulled back or cut to bar passage.  He had never been allowed very deep into their midst.  
  
Their settlement went on and on across many trees.  Now that the sky was growing dark, he could see many lamps spread overhead, both close and far away.  At first he thought they represented individual huts, and then he realized that they were being carried.  There were no torches lining the paths, light was carried and easily doused instead.  This entire settlement could hide in darkness. The front door wasn't clearly marked from the outside, even he would be hard pressed to find it again.  
  
They walked until the sky was completely dark.  Then he could make out some light up ahead.  They came over the crest of a hill.  There was a bowl in the ground, dug out with tools, flattened by feet, no plants allowed to grow.  In the center of the bowl sat a large bonfire.  Near the fire, there sat a wooden throne and a stone throne.  Next to these were a wooden bench and a stone bench.  All were carved with intricacy that spoke highly of skilled craftsmen...or craftswomen.  The wood was carved with the impressions of branches, the stone, water.  There was enough distance between the seats and fire to allow people to pass between them.  Donna and the Doctor were escorted to a point between the two thrones.  They waited.  
  
It took Donna a while to realize that more people were arriving, behind the Doctor.  He had been instructed to stand closer to the stone throne and had been looking at Donna, back towards the way they had come.  Behind him, many men clad in brown loincloths, covered with brown and green paint, were melting out of the rainforest.  These men were Donna's height at the outside, taller than the tree women, but still shorter than the average human male.  The Doctor towered over them.  They carried spears as well, but bows instead of dart blowers.  
  
At last, a man who was shorter than any of the other men who were keeping to the shadows appeared.  He wore beads around his neck, crafted from stone, bone, and wood.  The pendant at the forefront was metal.  His staff was the same size as the sage's, but was a rough metal rather than wood.  He was old, his once dark hair mostly white.  Donna realized then that all of the men had dark hair, brown or black.  At first, it appeared that there were no women with them.  Their spears were enhanced with stone and metal tips, while the women's spears had merely been sharpened to a point.  
  
The sage and the old man stuck their staves in the ground and sat in their respective thrones.  Two groups of people came forward then, from outside the bowl, six tree women finding seats on the wooden bench, four men and two women painted brown finding seats on the stone.  Both of the brown women were pregnant.  None of the red women were.  The Doctor scanned the crowd to confirm this, and discovered that he was right.  He hadn't seen any children in the tree village, and perhaps this was because he hadn't been trusted, but he also hadn't heard so much as a babe crying or children laughing in play.  Those sounds were harder to hide from unfriendly ears.  
  
Ceremonial greetings began, and Donna's attention was wandering.  She was wondering how the men lived, if they also lived in trees as the women did.  This pomp and circumstance didn't interest her.  What the Doctor noticed, barred from being able to fully understand the proceedings, was that both sides had a translator.  An orange man stood between wooden bench and throne.  A green teenaged woman, very young and nervous, stood between stone bench and throne.  
  
The Doctor listened to the sounds, which were often similar, but sometimes minutely different.  There were more low grunty noises in the brown language, more high pitched trills in the red.  Their languages were very similar, even borrowed from each other, but they were two distinct dialects.  
  
The formalities ended, and the old man suggested that they skip straight to New Business.  This was out of order!  The sage would never hear of it.  The young female translator suggested that perhaps the New and Old Business were the same.  She looked at the Doctor with quick glances, as if afraid of being caught.  She held some personal interest in the proceedings, he guessed.  Did she find him attractive?  Or was it the fact that he was holding hands with Donna?  Maybe she was simply embarrassed.  It was hard to tell if she was blushing, but he thought that he rightly guessed that she was.  
  
|Fine, I shall speak on our Old Business,| the old man humphed.  |We are still for a new treaty, an exchange or even a merging of tribes.|  This was quickly translated.  
  
{Still you persist!} the sage exclaimed.  {It is forbidden, three generations of peace, would you have us return to the old ways, to war?}  The old man sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair, setting it all on end wildly.  
  
|I would not ask the unthinkable were it not for great need!| he assured her.  |Our women have dried up or deliver weak boys that do not survive childhood.  All of our people mourn each loss.  If we do not unite, we shall die out before another generation has a chance to plant new seed, ply new trades.  Do not think that I have not noticed your own need!|  He took his necklace off, and threw it at the sage's feet, kneeling.  |We are at your mercy.|  The sage stood in surprise.  She turned to Donna:  
  
{Is this your design?} she demanded.  {Are you in league with this fool, too?}  
  
{No, sage, we simply wish for handfast,} Donna assured her. {We have no knowledge of your debate.}  
  
The Doctor had been listening to the translation.  He had heard the word {handfast} leave Donna's lips in the same tongue as the red women.  He heard the green girl pronounce |Handshake|.  There was a tingling at the back of his neck as he heard the stone council talk amongst themselves.  Their confusion was clear:  what could possibly be offensive about a handshake?  The red tribe had brought it up often, but refused their attempts to fulfill this inexplicable vow that the other apparently had.  The Doctor jumped forward, yanking Donna with him, to kneel beside the old man:  
  
|What merging you are asking for?| he asked, haltingly, the sounds still foreign on his tongue without the Tardis to guide him.  
  
|We wish to become one tribe, for our peoples to become one flesh.|  It was still difficult for the Doctor to pick up, a little bit easier for him to understand the translation through Donna when she heard it from the orange man.  The Tardis wasn't translating the brown speech for her.  
  
|You wish to procreate|? the Doctor confirmed.  There was an uproar created when this word was translated by the orange man as {perforate}.  The meaning behind this word hung heavy in the air...rape, violence, blood.  
  
“Doctor, what is it, what's wrong?” Donna asked.  The Doctor stood, pulling the old man to his feet.  
  
“A mistranslation,” he told her.  “They've been offending each other because their languages are similar, but have slight differences.  These women think these men want to use them sexually, and these men are begging to be able to take wives!”  Donna's jaw dropped:  
  
“Is that all?” she asked.  “Three generations because of a couple of misunderstood words?”  
  
“There may very well have been a real reason for the rift to have been formed between these two peoples,” the Doctor replied.  “But the reason for it to remain...”  
  
“...is a failure to communicate,” Donna finished for him.  The Doctor stepped towards the sage, dipping his head with what he hope would be construed as respect.  
  
{To} |procreate| {comes after the consummation of handfasting,} he informed her.  He turned to the old man.  |To| {handfast} |comes before the consummation that leads to procreation.|  Back to the sage:  { _procreate_ , not perforate.  They seek to handfast, to forge a partnership as equals, to build a new tribe out of two equal parts.}  The old man listened to the translations carefully:  
  
|Yes!| he exclaimed.  |I seek to strengthen both our peoples, I love your people as if they are my own, I would not allow anyone to harm them.|  He bowed again:  |Please forgive our inability to understand your distress.|  
  
The sage turned to her council, and they spoke quietly amongst themselves.  They had their misgivings.  But they tentatively agreed to the idea.  The sage knelt for the necklace, and placed it back on the neck of the old man.  
  
{We will try to heal the scars of old,} she soothed him, her voice even sounding kind.  {I offer ten of my spearmaidens if you will offer ten of your craftsmen.  If we are able to maintain the peace for a year, I am willing to allow further integration over the course of ten years.}  
  
|Granted, wholeheartedly,| the old man bobbed his head.  The orange man translated.  
  
{If if would please you, mighty sage,} he added.  {I would wish to improve upon my understanding of the River Tongue.}  The green girl squeaked.  {Might I ask for the hand of the Speaker of the Tree Tongue}?  
  
{You know our traditions,} the sage said with a frown.  {How dare you suggest such a thing!}  
  
{It is all right, great lady,} the green girl spoke up.  {It is our way for the man to chase the woman just as he would the prey.}  The sage sniffed:  
  
{And it is our way for the woman to invite the man to take her seat at the head of the table,} she humphed.  {I will allow an eleventh--and even a twelfth--if that is the wish of the} |elder|.  
  
|I give my consent|, the old man replied, |and forgive that you took from the water that which was not yours to take.|  He clapped his hand, and a sound like a war cry went up from the brown and green men.  They began to dance, and hot meat was carried into the council bowl, having been cooked all day on coals in hopes of a successful negotiation.  Not to be outdone, the red and yellow women began carrying trays of fruit into the party, and began dancing in their own way.  
  
Ten men and ten women were appointed, then began mingling with the members of the opposite tribe.  By the time the food had been eaten there were twelve couples standing around the fire.  The Doctor and Donna's hands were wrapped last, and the now familiar words pronounced over them, and repeated vows.  The natives had pronounced {a year and a day}, but the Doctor and Donna promised “for all eternity.”  As the party continued long into the night, the dry heat was broken, and rain began to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Not work friendly. Some naughty, filthy language. You know you like it.
> 
> Battle prompts: blindfolded, bound and gagged, bigger on the inside, biting, body paint, campfire, firelight, and per usual (for me) Gallifreyan differences with some Gallifreyan mating cycle thrown in for good measure.
> 
> Author's Note: I must apologize for the delay in posting this. I had a weekend trip to Denver and discovered the final part wasn't fully fleshed out yet. Hopefully you will all agree that this was worth waiting for.

Because there was no vegetation in the earthen amphitheater, the ground soon became muddy in the torrential downpour. Many of the revelers began to leave, but some of the men remained and started to spar. Their movements were practiced; it was an almost hypnotic dance that they weaved into and back out of the darkness. Donna recalled that it had been part of the festivities earlier, but it had been so crowded that she hadn't really had the opportunity to observe. She had never seen anything like it, and watched with curiosity, even as she and the Doctor walked away from them, nearly blindly following those who were fleeing the elements. The bonfire was starting to flicker, and it was the only light that she could make out presently. She briefly considered staying and watching for longer.  
  
The Doctor had been faithfully following Donna all night, and had never been even a step away from her. He was sticking with her even closer now that his right wrist was tied to her left. He had seemed distracted throughout the entire council ceremony, his most relaxed and animated had been when he had figured out the language differences between the two cultures. But as Donna paused on the edge of the forest, staring back the way they had come, she sensed a new tension in him instantly focus and sharpen.  
  
The Doctor inserted his body between her and the firelight, his frame towering over her. There was no space between them at all, and yet they weren't touching. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he dipped his mouth towards her ear. He growled at her, the sound vibrating through his bare chest. Donna shuddered in response. And then he began to speak, his voice like liquid, his tongue harshly manipulating the tones as if he were expertly caressing an instrument, making it sing for him in a complicated percussion of quiet exclamation. She did not recognize any of the words, but the intent was clear, and the Tardis translated telepathically:  
  
Θ~I am going to fuck you so effectively that you will not even be able to remember your own name, let alone those simpleton carousers.~ς Heat flared through Donna, and she even went a little weak in the knees. The Doctor's lips claimed hers, and he firmly pulled her close, but he didn't hurt her. She sagged against him, unable to breathe, adrenaline pumping through her veins, not wanting him to stop. Well, she wanted him to stop long enough for them to find a bed. It had been nearly two years since Lance, and she hadn't been fucked properly in a long time.  
  
He finally broke away, pressing his face to her throat as she panted for air. If he would have let go of her, she felt certain she would have collapsed. Θ~Mine,~ς he whispered.  
  
“Yours,” Donna agreed breathlessly. He started to lead him towards what she hoped would be a safe place to spend the night...preferably with privacy. She regretted the delay, was perfectly willing to let him take her right here and now against any tree off the path they were on, but she did not trust the jungle to be safe once they fell behind. She didn't know which direction they were going, only that there was safety in numbers, and she trusted him implicitly. Despite the contrast of their forms compared to the natives, they were absorbed into the rushing crowd without so much as a questioning look or objection. It took her a while to realize that they were walking with the brown men, rather than going back with the red women.  
  
The Doctor seemed to have even less patience than she did. Every couple hundred meters, he picked up the speed a notch, until she was forced to run to keep her footing. He had always been the better runner, and she eventually stumbled, nearly falling down in the slick bracken. He barely missed a step as he swept her into his arms. He carried her as if she were as weightless as a rag doll, easily leaping over a felled tree that others were walking around or scrambling over. He ran with long, sure strides, expertly dashing around the people who were in the path before him. He didn't jostle her, he wasn't so much as winded, but the heat had been forgotten and given way to triumphant joy. He was whooping with excitement like a boy, amused that he had won his self-created race. He sprinted up to the base of a cliff and spun Donna around triumphantly, then hopped up and down.  
  
The natives were laughing and staring, amused. They had reached a ladder carved into stone that rose into darkness. The Doctor stilled, studying it intently, serious again.  It was too narrow for them to climb with their hands tied together, and Donna couldn't grasp well enough with her injured hand. He set Donna down and untied the leather thong that was wrapped about their wrists. Then he turned her around and wrapped it around their left wrists, tying it loosely. He escorted her to the obstacle, then more firmly pressed his body up against her back.  
  
They started to climb together, their feet finding their own footholds, his arms holding them upright. Donna's right hand scrabbled ineffectively for purchase, her left hand loosely held his wrist. It was the Doctor who propelled them upwards, his chest and thighs melded to her, his sinewy muscles working beneath her. He made quick work of the climb, terrifying her, but safely propelling them up the cliff, towards the settlement.  
  
Donna was relieved once she was able to scramble onto a ledge and then stand up in a narrow path. The hollowed out rungs had been shielded from the elements, but this surface was damp earth rather than stone. She hesitated, then started to lead the way. He didn't rush this time, but he corrected her course a few times when her senses had started to deceive her. She could barely see anything in the dark, but he was surefooted and patient.  
  
She could sense the path widen before she could see the city. They finally came around a jut in the cliff to discover firelight flickering in windows and doorways. They were out of the rain finally. A boy ran up to them, grinning, and pulled on Donna's hand insistently. They were led towards stone buildings that were mostly dark and obviously disused. They weren't as nice as the buildings that they had originally seen, but because they were set apart there was more privacy.  The Doctor stopped abruptly, staring at a couple standing nearby. The green girl was wrapped around the orange man, her tongue down his throat. She seemed to have gotten over her nervousness, and only let go of him long enough to lead him into one of the dark houses. They vanished behind a blanket that was hanging over the doorway.  
  
The boy had ignored the display of intimacy, and stamped his foot impatiently, tugging on Donna's right hand. She followed again, and he led them into a house a couple of doors down. Inside there was a pleasant fire crackling in a fireplace, a rope bed covered with furs and a linen sheet, and the belongings they had lost when they had been taken from the stone by the waterfall. The boy's mother greeted them warmly, presenting them more food in the form of a dish of meat, grain, and beans combined in a single large bowl. Fresh clothing such as the brown people wore was laid out over a line, hanging next to their own modern clothing. There was water to wash with, as well as to drink. The woman led her son away, carefully closing the blanket behind her.  
  
The Doctor deftly undid the knot that bound them, dropping the braided leather as soon as they were separated. He knelt on the floor and fell upon the food as if he hadn't eaten in days. Donna retrieved the cord and wrapped it around her left wrist like a bracelet, fumbling a bit when she tried to tie it one handed. She didn't care to eat, but the Tardis pressed against her mind insistently, so she joined him. It was strange to see the Doctor gradually becoming more driven by instinct. She had become hyper aware of his every movement and decision. She watched his adam's apple bob as he drank deeply from an earthen pitcher. Donna forced herself to swallow some more of the flavorful mush down. It was delicious, but spicier than she would have liked. She set the empty bowl aside, and he gave her the pitcher. As she drank, she could feel his eyes on her.  
  
He stood and undid his loincloth, dropping it to the floor. She couldn't help but notice that the perception filter was no longer active. He wasn't as aroused as she felt, apparently. He fell onto the bed, sighing in satisfaction. He rolled back and forth on the soft furs, stretching. A rumble emanated from his chest, a happy sound somewhere between a growl and a purr. She wondered if he had forgotten his earlier promise.  
  
Donna poured some of the water into the bowl to wash it and the eating utensils, then washed her face. The Doctor stilled, watching her. The heat was slowly flaring back to life again, building in her in response to the intensity of his gaze. She stripped out of her stiff dress and washed her torso next. Most of the paint had transferred itself to the sodden dress. She didn't care as much about the remnants of the paint on her arms and legs. The Doctor sat up and stared as she rinsed out her clothing, then draped it and his loincloth over the line to dry. He scooted over expectantly, providing more room for her to lay down on the bed. But first Donna retrieved the medical tape.  
  
She sat down next to the Doctor and started to unwrap the soiled tape, starting with the wrap closest to her hand. After a moment, the Doctor took over, his hands automatically performing the same task he had the first time. He had muscle memory, could work problems out, climb a sheer rock face, provide medical assistance, but Donna could tell that his higher reasoning wasn't as active as normal. He was acting like a child now, running on instinct... An overgrown and incredibly strong child. Maybe an adult with Savant or Down's Syndrome was a better comparison. He wrapped her hand just as efficiently as last time. When he was finished, Donna lay down.  
  
The bed was comfortable. The Doctor spread his body out beside hers, head perched on his hand, not touching her, but still studying her. She rolled closer to him, onto her stomach, wishing that he would touch her. What was he thinking? Had he lost the urge to be with her, would they be forced to wait? She thought she would incinerate if she didn't get relief soon. And then the Doctor started playing with her hair. His arched fingers deftly combed the tangles out. He was gentle, thorough, and careful not to hurt her. After he was done, he wiggled so he was laying down all the way, and finger combed his own hair, arranging it in a way that was more reminiscent of its usual haphazard style.  
  
He made the rumbling sound some more. Donna wondered if he meant to communicate anything. The light was growing dim, the flames flickering languorously. He blinked, but continued to stare at her face. His eyes were tired. Donna stretched, feeling more relaxed and comfortable, and noticed that the Doctor's peen was half erect now. He seemed not to have not noticed. She supposed that he was just happy and comfortable after grooming her. Had they waited long enough, or was it still too soon for him? She wanted him now.  
  
She lifted herself off the bed and pressed her mouth against his. He didn't pull away, but he didn't participate, either. He was so calm right now, so different than earlier, no passion or desperation. It might make their initial joining easier. She broke away long enough to straddle him, then leaned down to resume their kissing. He brushed his tongue against her lips this time, then made the rough purr for a third time, louder, when Donna opened her mouth in acquiescence. She sighed as their tongues met. His penis was waking up the rest of the way, and had started poking her in the belly, twitching from time to time. She dipped a hand between them to stroke it lazily.  
  
The air gradually became electric. The Doctor sighed, and started stroking her sides with whisper soft caresses, from hip to breast, each trip bringing him closer to the places where she wanted him to touch her. Her stomach was damp now, where the head of his penis was leaking fluid. His hips flexed minutely and he started to pant. She stopped stroking him and started to rub herself instead. She was dripping wet. She wanted him inside her  _now_.  
  
He rumbled again, shifting himself beneath her, positioning his tip at her entrance. She blushed and remembered that he had been able to hear her thoughts earlier. He still could apparently. He kissed her, this time with more purpose, desperation. She couldn't see his eyes, but the Doctor felt closer to the surface now. His hands found her breasts and his thumbs brushed against her rigid nipples. He rumbled some more, which sent ripples of pleasure through her.  
  
Donna eased her hips forward, guiding him into her entrance. She hissed and stopped. He was barely inside and it already felt too tight. One of the Doctor's hands pressed against her ribs, and he tilted her backward slightly. His other hand dipped to her sex, his thumb manipulating her clit.  
  
 _Oh, that feels good_ , she realized. Her hips rotated minutely, and he nudged inside her gently, dipping out and in, not to penetrate further, but just enough to adjust so that their sexes were better aligned. There was no more discomfort, and she wanted him to go further. But he stilled beneath her instead, bracing her in the proper position, allowing her to take this at her own pace, massaging her clitoris to help her relax.  
  
Donna flexed her hips slowly a few times to make sure that this positioning was comfortable before taking more of him inside. She eased forwards until he was about halfway into her.  _So tight_. She moaned as he rotated his hips, not in pain, but surprised pleasure. It felt so incredible. He eased out and back in, again not going deeper, merely coaxing her muscles to adjust. She started to move with him, and he stilled again. She moved above him, sighing, and he rumbled in response. She let her body decide when to take the stroke deeper, until it was begging her. Then she slowed her movements and slowly lowered herself farther onto him.  
  
She stopped when she thought that he was filling her entirely, though he still had more length to spare. She felt so  _full_. It wasn't painful exactly, but it was uncomfortable, an unfamiliar sensation that she didn't quite like. He was just so large. Her entire body quivered. The Doctor pulled her into his arms, shushing her, rumbling quietly. His hands rubbed her back reassuringly. He shifted beneath her, adjusting so his pubic bone was nudging against her center. She shifted her knees wider, sinking ever so slightly, and the connection completed. She shifted her hips gradually, slowly out, even more slowly back in. His pubic bone pressed more firmly against her center at the depth of each stroke, coaxing a moan from Donna's lips. She scratched at his hips in desperation. She wanted more.  
  
They started to move together then. With each stroke, the discomfort eased. He huffed beneath her, his movements becoming haphazard. Θ~Fuck!~ς he growled. She had never heard him use that word before tonight. A torrent of arousal shuddered through Donna in response. She clenched her vagina around him, hoping... Θ~Oh my, fuck you feel so good!~ς he howled. She had to agree, and practiced it some more.  
  
His pace increased. Θ~Donna, my love, I can't...~ς His body arched upwards off the bed, and he pressed his entire length inside of her forcefully, causing her to squeak in surprise. His hips stilled, but his back arched up off the bed as he squirmed in ecstasy beneath her, his entire body shuddering. And then he came, roaring loudly, his voice deep in his chest. Long squirts of fluid were released deep inside her.  
  
He teetered, then fell back, pulling her with him, panting. Amazingly, he did fit inside her. She felt so full that it hurt slightly, but she didn't dare move. It wasn't unbearable. She wanted this to be easier next time. The tip of his penis was pressed against her cervix tightly, and she was relieved that he hadn't lost control and pumped into her this deeply uncontrollably. It would have been painful, but this was bearable. He was already starting to soften and ease out of her.  
  
A wave of drowsiness washed over her. She eased herself off of him gingerly. He was asleep: deeply asleep. His eyes twitched between his eyelids, already dreaming. She yawned, and curled up next to him, pressing her face to his throat. Strangely, it didn't bother her that she hadn't had a chance to finish. She didn't have the energy for more right now. She couldn't keep her eyes open.  
  
  
  
He could feel metal grate beneath his Converse-clad feet. The Tardis was burning, screaming in his mind, crying out to him in pain. Donna was alone and terrified. His heart was being ripped in half.  
  
 _Θ~Donna,~ς_  his mind called out to her. A scream welled up inside him, tearing itself loose: “ _Donna!_ ”  
  
He awoke suddenly, with the dark pressing down on him. He couldn't remember his dream, only that he felt terrified. A sob tore free from him, and then he realized that he was wrapped around something soft. She shifted against him with a quiet sigh, and his fear was instantly forgotten. He disengaged his arms from around her body, and crouched over her, inquisitive. He ran his hand down her spine, rubbed invitingly pliant skin. He pressed his nose to her hair, burrowing until he reached the back of her neck, and inhaled deeply.  _Mine_ , he realized. She was marked with his scent. But their bond still wasn't complete. Instinct was driving him to connect with her, he was intensely longing for something more. He needed her.  
  
A sound came from deep in his chest, a rumble of sound that surprised him. It was her name, no, what she did to him, how she made him feel. He made the sound again, reveling in the feeling of joy and desire that coursed through him. His body woke up some more. He looked down in surprise.  
  
Part of him had become hard and lifted itself heavenward. It felt uncomfortably tight and unfamilliar. Was his body meant to do that? He rubbed the appendage in question, and it twitched in relief. But it wanted more. The desire coursed through him, making his skin tingle pleasantly. How could he have never known that he could feel like this? He took himself in hand, trying something new. That was nice, but it woke up a new memory. She had held it. Then it had been inside her. He groaned, his chest rumbling again, remembering how incredible that had been. He had never thought he could experience anything like that.  
  
He scooted closer to her again, dipping his hand to cup her sex, stroking her furred flesh. He could still smell himself on her, and she was dripping wet, squirming against his fingers as she slept on. He rubbed her gently, hoping she would like it. Her scent was stirred by his movements, made him more excited. His body woke up some more. The need was so overwhelming, it was verging on painful. He moaned, and licked his way up her spine. He brushed her hair aside, noticing that his scent was heaviest here, both of their scents mixed together. He rubbed his nose against her, enjoying the smell, proud that she was his. He nipped at her shoulder gently, then licked the new mark.  
  
She woke up abruptly, and turned in his arms. He continued to rub her down below, and she obviously did not object. She was so soft. And soaked, she was surprised how wet and hot. It itched, she wanted to scratch, wanted him to make the itching go away. He could smell that she was ripe, he needed to take her soon. He rumbled, rubbing his interest against her hip, his hand drifting from between her legs to cup a breast. He leaned down and nipped at her nipple, next.  
  
She squealed in pain, and he pulled back, surprised. She hit his arm, new noises coming out of her mouth. He didn't recognize them, he didn't understand. She tried new sounds but that weren't any more helpful. He rumbled quietly as a way of an explanation. He wanted her to know how much he needed her. She leaned forward, and bit his nipple.  
  
Oh, sharp, sharp! She let go, making a lovely sound in amusement. Ow, that hurt, but he liked it. He rumbled louder, shoving the other side of chest into her face. Might as well make things even. She sobered, and licked his other nipple. He rolled his eyes, and then she bit him. He squirmed, rumbling appreciatively. Yes, that was nice. Then he bit her other shoulder, making her even. She whimpered, but didn't pull away or try to get him to stop. He licked the mark affectionately, knowing it would fade soon enough.  He hadn't even broken her skin.  
  
He returned his mouth to her offended breast, apologetic. He licked her first, noticing how her nipple perked up, begging for more attention. He covered the colored portion with his mouth and exuberantly began to suckle. She whimpered with discomfort, so he made himself be gentle. This was exciting him a lot. He felt as if he would explode with this feeling. He could vaguely remember enjoying this a very, very, very long time ago. He switched breasts, pleased to hear her moan, first in disapproval, then in appreciation. She was quivering with desire. He could taste her ripening. He groaned against her, and she hummed in response.  
  
He pet and kneaded her stomach. He couldn't wait to see her body grow here. He buried his face in her bellybutton, nuzzling, kissing. He wouldn't feel alone anymore. He could feel her, but it would be even more glorious to sense the little ones, to hear their heartbeats, to watch them wiggle right under here, to try to guess, hand, foot, back? He rumbled loudly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.  
  
Her scent shifted. Oh, he was desperate to be inside her. He was ready, was she ready? He sat up, cupping her sex again, and rumbled long and loud. He rolled over so he was on all fours, stretching his body out so she could see how strong and handsome he was. He would give her beautiful babies to suck where he had. He bounced up and down excitedly.  
  
She sat up halfway and stared at him. It wasn't exactly the desired effect. Instead of impressing her, she now looked dubious. He rumbled again, wondering, what did she want? He sat back on his haunches, presenting his manhood to her, stroking his fur, hoping it made him look more impressive. He was dripping, and huge, it took quite an effort for him not to rub himself. Oh how he ached to be nestled inside her.  
  
She smiled and pet her fur in response. Oh, did she like that? She dipped a finger deeper, inside...teasing. Oh she was ready, she was just playing hard to get. He rumbled, then panted, wanting to join her. She pulled her hand away, wet, and crooked her finger in a beckoning motion. She smelled like heaven. He understood this invitation.  
  
A moment later, he had flipped her over and lifted her under himself. He pressed his desire to her bottom, humping her, and licked the nape of her neck. She squirmed in his arms for a moment, so he stilled. Had he misunderstood? He relaxed his hold around her waist. She turned slightly, tilting her chin up. He dipped his mouth so she could kiss him. Then she arranged herself so that she was on all fours beneath him, arching her back against his chest, and spreading her knees in invitation.  
  
He rolled his hips, placing himself at her entrance, and nudging her open. He used one hand to hold her hips steady, the other to knead at her belly, then dipped his fingers lower to press against the tiny bundle of nerves he knew was hidden lower. She squirmed, pressing her bum upwards, back, and sliding onto the head of his cock. He groaned in appreciation, wiggling, and then thrust forward.  
  
Oh, she was  _tight_. And perfectly  _slippery_. He stilled himself, desperate not to lose control in this moment. She would not be happy with him, not this time. He didn't want to make her angry. He had to fulfill her needs before seeing to his own desires. She clenched around him, shivering, wanting more. She moaned her appreciation, called out with desire. He growled. Even his cock was betraying him, it twitched inside her eagerly, causing more delicious friction to wash through him. He inhaled slowly, and counted how many vertebrae she had with his tongue. She had an even number. Were they not the same? He found himself worrying that they weren't compatible, that this wouldn't work. He wanted this to be perfect.  
  
He had marked her, his smell was all over her, that was enough for him. He shifted backwards, then deeper into her, and sighed. Yes, they fit together perfectly. He thrust back and forth some more, tentatively easing in deeper each time. Then he pulled out nearly all the way, with only his head still inside her, and was still. She didn't like this. She was squirming beneath him, but he abandoned the button of nerves to hold her hips still. She hissed, making other angry noises, and he laughed, rumbling loudly. She leaned forward farther, lifting her butt to him in desperation. He pet the small of her back soothingly, humming.  
  
He plunged forward abruptly, causing her to squeak as his thighs slapped against her buttocks. She rotated her hips, and he pulled out again, then plunged even deeper inside her. He set a slow, forceful rhythm, drawing moans out of her with the intensity. He started to speed up, and rubbed between her legs again. She wiggled beneath him, meeting him stroke for stroke, panting stridently. She was getting close. He could feel it building in her, listened to her body, what motions made it soar highest. He nudged against a place that she liked best, adjusted his movements to punctuate this sensation. She quivered around him expectantly. His body was shaking with exhaustion, he couldn't hold this pace much longer, he was nearly there...  
  
They fell over the edge together. She sang for him, and he groaned against her back, trying desperately not to fall on top of her. He recovered first, and she continued quivering around him occasionally. He held her bum flush against his lap, reveling in their connection. Then he got a new idea. He eased his softening cock out of her, and stroked her backside.  
  
She was soaking wet. Their fluids were dripping out of her. He dipped two of his fingers inside of her. She mewled appreciatively and moved against his hand. The more he rubbed, the more noise she made, and the wetter his hand became. She wanted more, so he kept adding fingers. She was so close, but it wasn't enough. His free hand stroked caressed her from the top of her slit down to her anus, massaging her perineum, then back again, pinching her clit, then pushing against her pleasure button firmly.  
  
She was making new noises now. He still didn't understand...no, she was begging him. She was ready. He removed his fingers and positioned his hand. All of his fingers pressing forward. She gasped, her hips shifting backward in delight. She felt no pain at all. His hand twisted, his knuckles were slipping inside her. Her slight discomfort lasted only for a moment, was quickly overwritten by the intense pleasure.  His entire hand was inside of her. She groaned in delight as the his hand formed a fist. She was so close to falling over that edge. This was even more amazing than the wedge had been. She had never imagined...  
  
A new awareness fluttered at the edge of his mind, a realization. This was quickly forgotten, made no sense to begin with. His hand pulsed--opened minutely, then tightened again—experimentally. Yes, she liked this. More noises, beautiful tones, begging him not to stop. He repeated the motion, experimenting with frequency and pressure, coaxing the moans from her lips, drawing out the pleasure. She had something of his, something he needed.  
  
Θ~Thet~ς...uh,” she moaned so loudly that she was sure that everyone and anyone would be able to hear them. Neither of them cared. Theta? The realization returned, itching this time. He batted it away, completely focused on this moment. He was connected to her now. He would give her anything she wanted, whatever he could. She was very close. Her voice was even louder now an O of pleasure pouring out of her. Θ~Thetsanguinpetrantaregn!~ς the name exploded in his mind and she screamed.  
  
The elusive awareness in his mind clicked back into place. Donna writhed in ecstasy as she came apart around his hand, howling with a sound that she hadn't even realized she could make. He could remember who he was now, who he wanted to be for Donna. A sense of love and adoration flooded through her, from him, then came back again, a neverending circle. She could hear his mind now, just as he could hear her. The orgasm continued to wash through her, her muscles clenching around his fist haphazardly. He caressed her back, sensing the connection strengthen as her body came down from its high. She couldn't breathe, couldn't do more than whimper. He wrapped his free hand around her just in time to catch her as she collapsed.  
  
Θ~I've got you,~ς he assured her. He could feel his fatigue reasserting itself. He needed sleep again.  
  
As soon as Donna caught her breath, she shifted her hips, still wild with desire. He shushed her: Θ~Time enough for that later,~ς he assured her. Θ~Pace yourself.~ς She wanted more, the ecstasy was far outweighing her fatigue at the moment, giving her a false sense of stamina. She was so horny...  
  
“Why do I feel this way?” she asked. He rumbled, enjoying the lust that was pouring off her body, a bit disappointed that his body was too tired now to do anything about it.  
  
Θ~Because I feel this way.~ς he reminded her. His fist shifted inside her as he adjusted his thumb, inserting it between two of his fingers. She shuddered, humming in appreciation. Θ~You and my Tardis have been playing without me,~ς he noted. Her eyes flashed open. Θ~What shall I do with you?~ς She whimpered.  
  
The Doctor swayed, another wave of fatigue washing over him. He didn't want to hurt her, he needed to be careful now. His hand shifted back to its original position, and they worked together to ease it free of her body. Waves of exhaustion washed over them. It was all he could do not to collapse on her as he lowered himself to the bed. He was between her and the door now: anyone who came in would have to go through him to get to her. This felt safe to him, his mind still clinging to instinct, still not back to normal.  
  
She had recovered enough to pull him into her arms. She rubbed his back soothingly, tucking their bodies together, laying against him as closely as possible. Θ~Oh Donna, my Donna,~ς he whispered in her mind. Θ~You can hear me now?~ς  
  
Θ~Yes,~ς she breathed. The words poured off her lips before she even realized...She had spoken Gallifreyan. He was already asleep again.  
  
  
  
Donna woke feeling an urgent need to relieve herself, her dream drifting away from her. She eased her body away from the Doctor's and climbed off the bed. There was a pot in the corner that she remembered seeing before. She felt much better after using it. She drank water from the bladder that she had watched the Doctor fill days ago, and shivered in the dark. She wasn't ready to go back to bed yet. She was still dripping wet, her vulva flushed and begging for relief, and felt tingly all over. She was hungry, but they had no food left. She was grateful that the Tardis had prompted her earlier.  
  
The Doctor flipped over, off the bed, and crouched on all fours. His silhouette blocked the embers as he stoked the fire. Then he came to her in the dark and wrapped his body around hers, rubbing her to warm her. He was aroused again, too, his erection straining towards her. She wondered how he had the stamina at his age, then realized that his body felt like it was only her age, give or take a couple of years. He would feel her age for a long time after she didn't feel this age anymore. That made her sad.  
  
“Shhh...” he comforted. Θ~Don't worry about that now.~ς He rumbled, then started to kiss her. He wasn't as frisky as earlier, but he thought she still smelled ripe. He couldn't think of anything other than the fact that he still wanted her so much that it hurt. The lust was still burning through him, demanding attention. They would have time to talk later.  
  
He pulled a fur onto the floor and laid her down on it. He lay down beside her, facing her, and covered them with another fur. Then he arranged their bodies side by side, lifting her top leg over his hip and sliding into her with a sigh. Donna sighed in response. He felt wonderful, and since she felt no discomfort and he had more control than last time, he immediately started moving inside her sedately. There was no energetic movements, just the two of them cuddled together, scratching a persistent itch that refused to be ignored, and enjoying each others' company.  
  
Donna didn't even feel up to so much as rolling her hips. She clenched around him rhythmically. The sensations heightened the need within him, were fed back to her as new flutters of arousal. He loved her so much, loved being here with her. He shifted her closer to him, rumbling quietly, and reapplied himself. But he didn't last long before his body shuddered with sudden release, and she was pulled over the edge with him. It was nothing spectacular, but it was enough to allow him to drift back to sleep. Donna felt warm and safe and complete. She fell back to sleep floating.  
  
She dreamed of them running together, laughing, falling into soft grass. They kissed, and stared out across the water at a futuristic city. This was interrupted as he stroked her body adoringly. She woke up to find him thrusting into her gently. She was back on the bed, her hips lifted and cushioned while he knelt on the floor, caressing her legs. An orgasm suddenly washed over her, waking her up the rest of the way. He rumbled in appreciation, but felt lonely, so she sat up to take him in her arms.  
  
He sighed against her neck. She kissed his forehead, playing with his hair. He hummed appreciatively. She rubbed the small of his back and his tailbone with her heels, digging them in as hard as she could. He wiggled, resuming his movements, his thrusting hitting new places inside of her.  
  
Θ~So tired,~ς he whispered to her. Θ~I'm sorry that I didn't wake you, but I need you so much. I didn't want to disturb you.~ς  
  
“It's okay,” she soothed.  
  
Θ~I was dying to be inside you... You just smell too good.~ς She could feel how much he wanted her: not merely physically, but mentally and even emotionally.   
  
Θ~You do this to to me,~ς she told him. The Gallifreyan came to her as natural as breathing. She had never been this wet, ever. He could smell what he was doing to her, feel her feeling his cock moving inside of her. He rumbled, his hips jerking. She joined his movements, revitalized by the thrill of feeling him come apart in her arms. His hands roamed her body, and she sighed. She started rubbing his chest, enjoying the play of his muscles beneath her palms. Their lips met, his tongue was tickling the roof of her mouth, then possessing her entire mouth, his thrusts faltering, her hips taking over. Her lips were pleasantly tingling by the time he ripped his mouth away, panting more stridently now. He was getting close. She panted along with him, moaning as the tips of his fingers teased her clitoris. They fell together.  
  
He immediately lifted her up, laying them back down on the bed. He didn't want to break the connection between them, and she didn't object, so they remained in each others' arms. In a few moments they were asleep again. She dreamt. Images came to her in no particular order. The Doctor cradled the dying form of Harold Saxon...no, the Master. He ran down a sandy hill, hiding from the Daleks, holding Romana's hand. Rose fell towards the void. The Tardis doors closed on Susan. He was in San Francisco, being properly kissed for the first time. Tegan was yelling at him. Donna's cervix complained at sudden pressure.  
  
“Sorry,” he told her gently, adjusting his stroke. She was on her back now, and the Doctor was thrusting above her powerfully. There was no haste or force this time, but strong, sure motions. They were face to face, and he was caressing her everywhere. He lowered his forehead to meet her own, and another wave of memories washed over her in an incomprehensible cacophony. It was overwhelming. She struggled back to consciousness. He shushed her. Θ~Have I told you're that you're mine lately?~ς Everything within her scoffed. She said:  
  
Θ~That's what you think; you're mine, Sunshine.~ς But what she thought was  _why me_?  
  
Θ~Oh, Donna,~ς he pronounced her name as if it were the most beautiful sound in the universe. It made her blush all over and the sensations expand to new heights. “You've seen how many women there are in my past.” That was the problem. She tried not to cry. Θ~You know you're the only one I have done this with.~ς  
  
“Except your wife,” she was quick to point out.  
  
“Not that,” he objected. Θ~This...~ς she came, crying out his name--his real name--and clung to him for dear life as more memories washed over her. Everything halted as she stared into the untempered schism. Knowledge wove its way through her mind, braiding her life to the Doctor's. She was an extension of him now, a Time Lord, and he was an extension of her, a Human. It hurt. So much sensation, the way that she felt everything, was overwhelming, just as hearing the Ood Song had been, only multiplied to the nth degree. She could feel the huon particles surge through her blood, through every cell, and realized that this was what it felt like to regenerate. She was frightened. There was nowhere that the memories ended and she began, they were who she was now, were twisted into her DNA. All there had ever been and all there would ever be was the call of Time itself. But the Doctor was holding her, and guided her back to him.  
  
  
  
He awoke because he heard a sound outside their door, then quiet footsteps moving away. Sunlight was starting to leak through the blanket that served as their door, the sun still low in the sky. Donna and her hair were draped across him. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. She was dreaming of making love to him, but the fire was gone...for now. They needed to recover their strength, to have time to allow themselves to recover mentally and emotionally from this. It would be harder for Donna than for him, he knew.  
  
She awoke suddenly, inhaling sharply and shifting in his arms. She stretched, then relaxed again. Her mind systematically thought about every part of her body, doing inventory. Her hand had healed. She looked the same, even felt the same, but her body was stronger now, still Human, but with the longevity and psychic powers of a Time Lord.  Her vagina had permanently adapted itself to match the Doctor's girth, but everything felt raw, too sensitive.  
  
Θ~How do you feel?~ς he asked.  
  
 _Sore_ , she thought. Θ~I'm not pregnant.~ς  
  
Θ~No, not yet,~ς he agreed. Maybe next time. He started to comb her hair with his fingers. After a while, he spoke again: Θ~How much do you remember?~ς Donna considered this.  
  
Θ~I feel as if I know everything about you, but most of it is removed, forgotten, or a distant memory. I don't remember it all at once, and I don't know how much I can retrieve.~ς  
  
Θ~Good,~ς he kissed the top of her head. That was how he felt about his past regenerations, he didn't remember it until circumstances prompted the retrieval of a memory. His stomach growled. She climbed off of him, and wrapped the sheet around herself. He used the chamber pot while she retrieved their breakfast. He wanted to touch her, but it wasn't an overwhelming urge, not like it had been before. The heat had broken. He could hear her thoughts like a distant whisper, even when they weren't touching. He could understand her if he tried to, but he knew that she wanted some privacy at the moment, to keep her thoughts to herself.  
  
He discovered that she was washing with fresh water when he turned around. She had pulled her hair back with the leather thong, and her back was to him. He sat down beside her facing the door, his back to her, and started to eat. He would have to buy her a proper ring. What were they going to tell her mother? Wilf would be delighted, but maybe they should give themselves a few days of their own first, a chance for things to settle. A proper honeymoon, yes. They would to go to Shan Shen.  
  
A soft hand drifted across his back. Donna scrubbed him clean, thoroughly enjoying being able to see his body in daylight. She resigned herself to having children with freckles, then decided it didn't really bother her. They would be adorable. After she was done, she sat down in his lap, and he fed her her portion of the breakfast. After they were full, they gathered their belongings. She pulled the brown dress on, and he pulled on his brown loincloth. He was sad to see her clothed again.  
  
“You are such a man,” she teased, then kissed him soundly because she didn't mind at all. They thanked their hosts for their generosity but asked for a guide back to their hut. The men laughed at the thought of them living in that off-kilter box, but a guide was provided. The walk was not far.  
  
When they arrived, the Tardis was waiting on the bank of the river. The Doctor ran around the outside his ship, needlessly checking to verify that she didn't have a mark on her. When Donna stepped up to the front doors, they opened for her automatically. The Doctor and Donna walked inside, hand in hand, and the Tardis welcomed them home.


End file.
